


Until We Bleed

by TheTrickyOwl



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Bonding, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Former Detective Gabriel Reyes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Vampire Amelie Lacroix, Vampire Hanzo Shimada, Vampire Jesse McCree, Violence, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-18 17:31:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10621728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrickyOwl/pseuds/TheTrickyOwl
Summary: Former LAPD Detective Gabriel Reyes assumed a life after retirement would be uneventful, until encountering a devil-eyed man in a cowboy hat with a secret that's been keeping him on the run for centuries.





	1. Chapter One

To your average human, the notion of a vampire being born in the harsh, unforgiving climate of the American southwest was a contradiction of the highest degree. It was simply unheard of. Almost laughable. Even so, should such creatures exist outside of low-budget horror films and those embarrassingly campy YA novels, the last place one would be found thriving for centuries would be in the rolling desert plains amidst the cactus flowers and soaring canyon walls. A correct notion indeed, if not for the existence of the single most important rule Jesse McCree’s mother had ever told him: a well-fed vampire could survive almost anything. 

And so he thrived. 

He’d been born in late June of 1842 in New Mexico, the only son of one Lucas and Rosalind McCree. His father had been a respected miner of strong, faithful human blood, while his beloved mother descended from a long line of vampiric aristocracy dating back to the dark ages. They’d lived a simple life in a tiny home amidst a field of white desert lilies and purple verbena where Jesse often played if and only if he’d been properly nourished by his mother’s vein beforehand. A belly full of rich, warm blood conquered all; throughout his childhood Jesse had never once contracted any illnesses, never suffered a scrape or a bruise that didn’t fade to nothing within mere hours, never shattered a single bone, no matter how high the fall. And the sun? Oh, how he relished in it, chin tipped back and eyes drifting closed while the breeze rolled over the plains, soaking in the heat of high noon. In the cradle of his mother’s arms while her blood rushed through his veins, Jesse McCree spent the first years of his childhood feeling unstoppable.

It was only after she’d been slain that he got the first taste of his own mortality.

Jesse had been out in the lily fields with his six-shooter rifle when it happened, firing at a line of rusted bean cans his father had laid out on the fence for him before work. He’d grown decent with his gun over the years; Peacekeeper he’d named her. His mother had been tending to supper inside, black smoke tumbling from the stone chimney and filling the dusty air with the scent of her bison stew. If there’d been a knock upon the front door, Jesse hadn’t heard it. Hadn’t known about their visitors until the piercing shriek of his mother’s scream had ripped through the evening as he shot down the fifth can. Heart leaping, he’d taken off running as fast as his scrawny legs could allow, tearing through the open front door to behold three powerful men, their faces partially hidden by black bandanas painted crudely to look like the lower half of a skull. 

Deadlock.

If vampires had been present since the dark ages, Deadlock had been around for nearly just as long. They were a relentless, unpredictable group of hunters responsible for the identification and elimination of thousands of vampires throughout the United States. His mother had told stories of them since he’d been old enough to understand, warning Jesse of their presence as they scoured the desert towns for their kind. 

Run, she’d always said as she brushed his tousled hair from his eyes. If you ever come across Deadlock, run as fast as your feet will carry you. Run until you can taste the copper tang of your own blood in the back of your throat, until your lungs burn with the searing heat of the sun you hold so dear. Run, my sweet Jesse boy.

And yet, when he came across those three men in the middle of his kitchen, silver knives drawn and held against his mother’s throat, he went utterly and completely still.

“M-Momma…?” He’d breathed from the doorway.

Her fangs had been bared and elongated, her dark braided hair caught in the iron grip of their largest man. She was kicking, hissing, fighting back against them despite the blades at her flesh. Rosalind McCree had always been strong despite her size, and it was clear she’d put up a fight before Jesse’s arrival. The round kitchen table had been overturned with the chairs, and the hot strew had been spilled across the wooden floorboards in the scuffle. Two of the three men were clearly bleeding. Jesse had scented their open wounds from afar, could smell the blood amidst the sweat. She’d torn her teeth through one of their clavicles, most likely in an attempt to sever the main artery but not reaching far enough. Claw marks from her long nails ran across the face of the other, tearing his bandana in two. Still, they’d overtaken her. 

“Jesse!” She’d shouted. He’d always remember the tremble in her strong voice. The desperation in those wild brown eyes. He’d never seen her so afraid. “Jesse boy, run! Run away!”

“Get the damn kid!” The largest one had roared.

Jesse hadn’t realized his pistol had been raised until the third man came charging toward him. With eerie calm, he’d brushed his gloved finger against the trigger and pulled, catching the fresh strike of blood in the air as the bullet soared straight through his eye and out. The Deadlock member’s body tumbled lifelessly down in a graceless heap, but Jesse had known before the body thudded to the floor that he’d just started something he couldn’t finish. Five cans, one man. Six bullets gone. 

“Jesse!” His mother had shrieked, tears spilling down her blood-spattered cheeks. “Run!”

He’d listened that time. 

With all the speed of a bullet, Jesse had run, heading for the maze of passes carved deeply into the canyon walls that surrounded their desert valley. His eyes had burned with the sharp, choking presence of tears, forcing the dust he’d kicked up to cling to his lashes and blind him until he scrubbed them clean. His heart had thundered, his lungs had stung. Vampires were naturally quicker than humans, and he’d trusted that his feet would carry him safely from Deadlock’s grasp. He had known not to head for the mines, where his father was surely finishing up his shift. They would have found him there. They would have known where to look. And who was to say that Deadlock hadn’t reached his father before heading to the house? Who was to say they hadn’t slain him first, for the sin of laying with a vampire and creating a half-blooded child? Jesse would never know the answer to that, but prayed that his father never had to arrive home at the end of his day to the sight of his slaughtered wife and missing son.

Death was kinder.

The black shadows of the canyon passes had been a welcome embrace. He’d run until his knees wobbled and gave out beneath his weight, until he was sure he could feel the tender soles of his feet bleeding within his boots. When Jesse had collapsed, it had been in a mixture of exhaustion and anguish, the adrenaline draining away to leave him coiling into himself. He’d vomited, insides heaving, fingers clutching onto his hair as he let his screams seep into the stone. His mother was dead. His father, surely too. She, slain for being born, and he for daring to love her. Jesse had been alone, terrified, hungry, and the cold desert night had swept in fast. He’d had to force himself to stop crying long enough to crawl into a small, cave-like crevice carved into the canyon wall. There, huddled tightly beneath the serape his mother had sewn herself, Jesse had allowed himself to sob until he could no longer hear the coyotes howling on the plains. 

The nightmares came quickly. 

The bloodthirst even quicker. 

The pain had been extraordinary, tearing through his stomach, forcing his fangs to elongate on their own accord as he clutched his belly and groaned. He’d tried to fight it off for as long as possible, unsure of how to sate himself alone in the wilderness. His mother had always provided the blood. He’d never known hunger until she’d been taken from him. Mind whirling, Jesse had grown desperate, managing in his weakened state to hunt down and feed from a large jackrabbit that had been resting nearby. He’d almost gagged. Animal blood was weak, bitter. Vampires could not live off it, alone. The rabbits and field mice had somewhat eased the ache, but Jesse had realized it wouldn’t be enough when even the early rays of dawn’s light had caused him to hiss in pain and scurry deeper into the canyon’s shadows. 

For a long time, Jesse McCree knew nothing but the night. Knew nothing but the bitterness of horse and rabbit blood and the pale caress of moonlight on his back as he travelled unnoticed from town to little town, sleeping in hay lofts until the daylight hours passed. A year went by before he’d grown strong enough to feel the sun of high noon on his skin at last, and he’d had to lure a sweet, doe-eyed sixteen-year-old girl behind a barn to do it. She had felt little pain; he’d made sure to strike the vein of her graceful neck as gently as possible as he held her. And hell, how the world spun when the hot, port-wine flavor of fresh human blood had spilled onto his tongue at last. Human blood was not quite as rich as vampire, not quite as thick; and yet still Jesse had felt the surge of strength fill him as he swallowed down. He’d made sure to not take too much, to ease back and glide his tongue over the wounds, sealing them shut. With a careful, almost tender brush of his hand through her hair, Jesse had erased a solid hour of her memory, letting her ease down onto the ground to recover from the dizziness. She’d returned home, stumbling and confused with an ache in her neck and no recollection of the devil-eyed boy with the fanged smile who’d disappeared without a trace.

For the first time since his mother’s death, he’d felt unstoppable again.

And so, a habit was formed. In the centuries following, Jesse McCree became nothing but a shadow, lingering within a city or town just long enough to enjoy the sights in the light of the midday sun and keep his bloodthirst quietly at bay. He’d stolen horses, carriages, train hopped, and eventually drove from state to state before anyone could recall his presence. There had never been permanent a home for him. Perhaps there never would be. Jesse had come to accept that, and the loneliness it carried. He’d become nothing but a crooked smile across the dimly-lit bar, the jangle of spurs in the shadowed alleys, a kindly tip of a hat amidst a crowded town square. No one’s lover for more than a night, no one’s family, no one’s friend. 

To get close to someone meant to put them at risk. Deadlock was just as present as they always had been; strengthening in numbers across the country as modern technology and weaponry took hold. Jesse had made sure to always remain one step ahead of them, cunning and quick, fleeing from entire states overnight at the slightest indication of their awareness of him. If he was ever caught, he didn’t want to take anyone he loved down with him. And he’d grown, strengthened over the years by the blood of a thousand nameless humans. The trembling orphan from the canyon caves had become a man; dangerous by nature but never willing to bring harm to those that kept him alive. 

Jesse vowed himself that.

In time, California grew to become one of his favorite destinations; the sun was searing, the nightlife vivid and pulsing. Never a dull moment to be had. And the humans?

Well, if the one he was currently admiring was any indication, he’d do just fine here.

* * *

Gabriel could feel the heartbeat of the muffled base pounding through his bones from where he stood. The harsh, gaudy light from the green neon sign overhead depicting the name of the club—The Dragon—danced across the surface of the rain slickened pavement. Small clusters of young men and scantily-clad women were gathered just outside the guarded doors, laughing as they cooled their heated, sweaty bodies in the evening breeze and shared cigarettes amongst themselves. Gabriel could smell the smoke and cheap perfume from where he leaned against the club’s wet stone wall, a cigarette dangling between his own lips. He could feel a dozen sets of eyes passing him over; whether appreciatively or skeptically he neither knew nor cared. He assumed a man in his forties wasn’t often seen around such an establishment. 

“Got a light, darlin’?” 

The question caught Gabriel off-guard, and he turned his head. What stood before him was even more out of place in this environment than he was; a man dancing along the edge of thirty in a dusty old-fashioned cowboy hat. A soft mouth split into a crooked smile halfway between charming and dangerous around the end of an unlit cigarillo, and Gabriel thought he caught the gleam of dark eyes shadowed beneath the brim. 

Gabriel didn’t respond as he reached into the pocket of his leather jacket to pull out his tarnished gold zippo, igniting it with a sharp flick. The cowboy leaned in close, pushing his cigarillo into the flame and inhaling deeply. Gabriel took quick note of the few seconds when the firelight illuminated his shadowed face. Dark eyes, just as he thought. Roughish features, a soft dusting of freckles across bronzed skin. Infuriatingly handsome.

“Much obliged,” the cowboy straightened and tipped his hat in thanks. Christ, even his damn accent was old-fashioned; the smooth, honey-slow drawl of a south westerner. An uncommon sound in Los Angeles. And it was a deep, low rumble compared to his own voice.

Gabriel tucked his lighter away and let their smoky exhales mingle in the cool night air. “Since when did The Dragon become a country bar?”

“Shucks, don’t I wish. Shame the crowd doesn’t share the same taste as I do.”

“I doubt Keith Urban would sound good pounding out of those speakers,” Gabriel smirked.

The cowboy grimaced, appalled. “That’s such a stereotype.”

“Said the one wearing spurs.”

“Hilarious,” the cowboy clicked his tongue and slumped back against the wall at Gabriel’s side, shoulders brushing as he lifted his hand to take hold of the cigarillo. A smoke ring tumbled gracefully from his mouth. “My taste’s more along the lines of mullet rock. Zeppelin, Styx, ACDC and all them. The classics.”

Gabriel’s brows lifted in appreciation. “Now those I’d like to hear. Think the DJ takes requests?”

“Not in this place,” the cowboy extended a hand between them. “Name’s Jesse McCree.”

“Reyes,” Gabriel clamped their palms together and squeezed, before remembering that he no longer needed to be referred to by his surname. “Gabriel Reyes.”

“Angelic name for an angelic face.”

Gabriel had to look away as he took his hand back, fingers clenching and unclenching at his side while tapping his cigarette ashes into a nearby puddle. He hoped the heat blossoming beneath the skin of his face was drowned out beneath a wash of neon green.

“So how long you been a cop?” Jesse asked.

Gabriel’s eyes snapped back, stunned. “How’d you—”

“You look like one,” Jesse gestured up and down Gabriel’s broad, strong body. “And I ain’t talkin’ about the size of you. It’s the vibe you got. I watched you eye up the crowds out here before allowin’ yourself the comfort of lettin’ your guard down for a smoke.”

“You were watching me?”

“Hard not to.”

Heart pattering, Gabriel felt his shoulders sag as he turned his gaze down the long stretch of city street, listening to the roar of cars passing over the wet asphalt beneath the muffled beats at his back. “Former cop. Detective, actually. Newly retired.”

“So young?” Jesse’s voice was soft, concerned, and Gabriel almost hated it. He’d grown tired of the pity months ago. “May I ask why?”

Now, how did one summarize a messy divorce from the man you loved for nearly fifteen years after the son of a bitch practically stole the promotion you’d been working your ass off toward?

“Needed a change of scenery.”

Yeah, that did it. 

Jesse didn’t press for details, thank fuck. “And you’ve chosen The Dragon?”

Gabriel gave one last pull to the end of his cigarette before stomping it out beneath his boot. “Not exactly. I’m just passing through to meet with a friend of mine. Club’s like this aren’t my usual haunts.”

“A damn shame that is.” There was that dangerous crooked smile again. Gabriel almost shivered at the sight of it. “If I catch you after you meet this friend of yours, perhaps I’ll buy you a drink?”

It had been nearly two years since the divorce was finalized, and yet the idea of growing close with another human being still made something inside of Gabriel curl defensively into itself. He no longer harbored any love for Jack Morrison, that much was certain, but Gabriel was hardly on the lookout for a sleazy bar hookup with a stranger to sate the suffocating loneliness that had followed the separation. No matter how ridiculously charming said stranger might be. 

Still, he had a feeling the warmth of Jesse’s gaze on this cool night would stick with him for a while. How long had it been since anyone had looked at him like that? Gabriel couldn’t recall. Jack had stopped looking long before they’d signed the paperwork. 

“We’ll see,” was all he managed to say as he pushed himself from the club’s wall and made for the main doors. It wasn’t entirely a no. 

Jesse remained where he was, puffing on his cigarillo beneath the green light. “See you soon, sugar.”

Any thought Gabriel had regarding that nickname were drowned out the moment he passed through the doors, the thumping baseline a physical sensation he could now feel in his chest. The music was deafening, and he cast his eyes across the club at the sea of bodies writhing together beneath the pulsing multicolored lights. The air scented of sweat and liquor and more sickly-sweet perfume. Even with the strobing lights, the place was dark, and Gabriel slowly swept along the edge of the dancefloor, searching the crowd. He could feel hands and hips brushing against his body as he shouldered past, and he practically collided with a young couple grinding into each other with little regard of their surroundings. 

It didn’t take long to find her. She was seated at the massive bar, back turned toward the pulsing bodies as she nursed a dry martini. Her lush ebony hair was swept back into a ponytail, the end of which tumbled down toward a trim waist. Colored light danced across the violet peacoat wrapped tightly around the curves of a sinewy dancer’s body, impossibly long legs crossed with one foot idly tapping along to the music. She was the type of woman that anyone would’ve gladly sacrificed their own limbs just to be close to, and yet there remained a solid meter of empty space between her and the nearest person. Clearly, no one was idiotic enough to make a pass at her tonight, lest they desire a six-inch heel lodged somewhere unpleasant.

Gabriel slid up next to her, one elbow resting on the sleek marble bar top. “Come here often?”

Amelie’s Lacroix’s startlingly bright amber eyes rolled back into her head. “It’s no wonder you’re still single.”

Gabriel snorted hard. 

When the bartender came around, Gabriel ordered himself a scotch on the rocks, having to set his gold zippo lighter on the bar so he could reach his wallet. As he paid, he eyed Amelie sidelong. “You really didn’t have to accompany me,” he stated. “It’s practically routine, now.”

She frowned, but only slightly. The presence of any emotion had always been but a fleeting ghost across that lovely face. Gabriel often found his closest friend difficult to read. 

“Of course I do,” her breathy voice was thickly laced in a delicious French accent, and Gabriel leaned close in order to hear her over the music. She smelled of clove and rosewater, as always. “I’m not allowing you the indignity of being murdered in a gaudy nightclub with these…” she turned up her elegant nose. “…people.”

“This is the third time I’m doing this,” Gabriel explained, a smirk pulling at his mouth as he took a decent swig of his drink. He welcomed the humming warmth that pooled at the bottom of his stomach. “If he wanted me dead, he would’ve done it a while ago.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You’ve never met him.”

Amelie shifted where she sat, body swiveling itself upon the leather stool in order to look him directly in the eyes with a glare that could shatter stone. “Neither did you prior to last October, and yet you still spent over half of your career attempting to take him down.”

Gabriel stuffed both hands into the pockets of his jacket, eyes flicking over the crowd and toward the main doors as though stupidly hoping to catch a glimpse of that ridiculous hat. “Things changed.”

“You don’t suddenly become friends with LA’s biggest crime lord because you gave your badge back, Reyes.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Regardless,” she huffed, sliding from the stool. Amelie was an incredibly tall woman, even without her heels, but Gabriel still had a few inches on her when they stood face to face. “I’m not going to just stand aside and watch you put your life at risk for a job you chose to leave.”

Gabriel had to smile, endeared. “So you’re here to protect me?”

“Of course.”

“You’re a ballet teacher. I was a cop.”

She reached up and ran her long, delicate nails through the soft fuzz atop his shaved head. Her hand came to settle against the back of his neck, and she drew him down until their foreheads met. “Mon cher, I could kill him faster than you could,” she whispered. “And I’ll look better doing it.”

Gabriel tossed his head back with a laugh. 

Once he downed the remainder of his scotch, he led her through the rolling crowds and up a set of spiraling iron stairs that lead to an exclusive and private second floor balcony. There, two guards stood watch on either side of a pair of rich mahogany doors carved deeply with the coiling forms of twin Japanese dragons. Gabriel nodded to each guard and watched as one knocked upon the door to announce their presence before allowing them both to push through. Gabriel was greeted with the pleasant aroma of burning incense as the closing doors drowned out the music behind him. 

Hanzo Shimada—eldest son and leader of the notorious Shimada crime family—sat on the phone behind an elaborate wooden desk in the middle of a finely furnished office. His hair was left down tonight, spilling in an inky river of black across one of his broad shoulders, with hints of silver in wing-shaped tufts on each of his temples. Hanzo’s dark, cunning eyes lifted across the desk to regard his visitors as he spoke softly into the phone in a language Gabriel could not understand, and something within him almost wanted to bow in the man’s presence. There was something inexplicably regal about him. His family had reigned over the Los Angeles underground for decades, their name sitting pretty at the top of the watch list for the LAPD for as long as Gabriel could remember. The Shimadas were infamous, dealing in weapons proliferation and distribution, drug deals, and prostitution rings across the city. The Dragon nightclub was one of the many fronts for their business, the true money seeping in and out of Hanzo’s office while the public danced and drank their minds away downstairs. 

Gabriel had spent years attempting to take his family down, and here he was, waltzing in through Hanzo’s own door.

Funny how much had changed in a year. 

Gabriel remained standing in the middle of the room as he awaited Hanzo to finish his phone call. Amelie, on the other hand, slowly strolled about like a curious cat on a museum tour, scrutinizing their lavish surroundings as both her arms crossed over her breasts. She paused before his desk, eyeing up a gleaming golden urn that sat next to the fountain pen. Hanzo’s eyes glided up her form momentarily before he finally set his cell phone down. 

“Gabriel Reyes,” Hanzo’s smile was warm, welcoming, and rare. Gabriel watched as he rose and rounded the desk, hand extending in greeting. Gabriel took it in a firm grip. “A pleasure, as always.” Hanzo’s gaze locked onto Amelie’s. She was taller than him by a fraction, but was a mere wisp compared to his broad strength. “And this is?”

“Merely an observer.” She cut in coldly before Gabriel could reply. He did not extend a hand to her. Gabriel doubted she would have taken it if he had. 

Hanzo did, however, smile. A small, tight, secretive smile given only to her. She did not return it, golden glare darkening and frame tensing as though he’d just uttered something terrible. Gabriel somehow felt as though he was standing on the outskirts of a conversation he could not hear. 

Tearing his attention away from Amelie, Hanzo gestured toward the two tufted velvet chairs across from his desk. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

Gabriel knew better than to decline such a courtesy from the man, and moved to lower himself into the offered seat, the luxurious fabric sinking beneath his weight. Amelie remained standing, dangerously defiant. Hanzo didn’t comment on it as he stalked behind his desk to draw out a single shot glass and a tall, dark bottle that could only be sake. Once again, Gabriel refused to decline the offer as the drink was poured and slid towards him. Only him. Not Amelie. There were few in this city who could say that they drank with Hanzo Shimada without blood being spilled first. Gabriel had earned his place, here. His dear friend, however, did not.

“I take it you’re not here for drinks and conversation.” Hanzo stated as he returned to his broad-backed chair.

“When am I ever?” Gabriel asked once he swallowed down the shot. The sake was dry and cool against the back of his throat, leaving the slightest bite of sweetness lingering on his tongue afterwards. Expensive stuff, no doubt.

“Fair point.” Hanzo said as he pulled open one of the bottom drawers. Gabriel watched him draw out a thick manila envelope, which was then passed across the desk and into his waiting hands. It was heavier than the others had been. “This should be of great use to you.”

“How big of a sting operation are we talking about, here?” Gabriel asked as he peered into the envelope. There were dozens of pages, photographs, and maps of the Los Angeles area that had been carefully marked and labeled in Hanzo’s handwriting. 

“The largest yet, if you care to dispatch of every Los Muertos member.”

“Los Muertos?” It was Amelie who spoke, eyes narrowing.

“The biggest drug cartel in the city.” Hanzo informed her.

“And your most valued supplier.” She added, and Gabriel heard her nails dig into the velvet at the back of his chair. “How is it that you’re willing to allow your business to take such a massive hit?”

“I don’t openly discuss such matters with… what was it you called yourself?” He smirked darkly. “A mere observer?”

Gabriel could see Amelie bristling. “This is a trick,” she growled.

“No tricks. Just a deal.”

“With the LAPD?”

“With me.” Gabriel cut in, forcing their eyes away from each other. He stood, towering over them both. 

He had expected such a reaction from her. She had every right to be skeptical. To anyone, the idea of Hanzo Shimada willingly putting his life’s work in peril to merely uphold his end of a deal struck with a former Detective seemed ludicrous at best. Gabriel hadn’t trusted it at first, either, but every bit of information Hanzo had provided thus far had been sufficient. Two successful sting operations later, the LAPD had taken down some of the largest arms dealers in the southwestern United States. His ex-partner Ana Amari had even been promoted to Sergeant for it, while the beloved Captain Jack Morrison glittered the front pages of papers and local television news spots throughout the year, praised for the work that Gabriel had provided in secret. 

Not that Gabriel gave a shit. He’d never been in it for the glory. Badge or no badge, he was still making this city better for everyone. 

He’d just never imagined that striking a deal with a Shimada would lead him to that.

“What does he get?” Amelie asked in a harsh whisper he was certain Hanzo could still hear. “If getting to take down every asset the Shimadas have is your reward in this deal, what does Hanzo get from you?”

Gabriel wished he had the ability to ease her worries, to explain all that had occurred a year before. But Hanzo had demanded their arrangement be kept only between them, and it wasn’t like Gabriel to go back on a promise. Especially one that resulted in so many assets for the LAPD. Briefly, he glanced across the desk, aware of Hanzo intently watching him beneath those dark slashed brows.

“I can’t say,” Gabriel replied.

Amelie huffed, a string of French curses spilling from her lips. 

They left soon after, the manila envelope tucked snugly into the inside pocket of Gabriel’s leather jacket so as not to draw attention from the crowds. He was grateful for the cool kiss of evening air cutting beneath the hem of his shirt as they stepped out through The Dragon’s doors. Dark eyes passed over the groups of young smokers, and Gabriel hated himself for the disappointment flaring hotly in his chest when that cowboy hat was nowhere in sight. 

“I’m going to deliver this to Ana’s in the morning,” he informed Amelie, who looked the picture of a brooding thunderhead ready to crack. Her heels clicked loudly against the wet pavement. “Need a lift home?”

She shook her head, ponytail swaying at her back in the rain-scented breeze. Amelie regarded him thoughtfully, concern causing her arched brows to knit together. Saying nothing, she paused her stride and reached out to take both of his hands into her own. Stilling, Gabriel frowned as she pushed up the sleeves of his leather jacket, examining the skin of his wrists beneath the green neon glow. Her thumbs brushed across the veins, there. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, bewildered. What could she possibly be looking for?

Her nose wrinkled, dissatisfied. She quickly dropped his hands. “It’s nothing,” she dragged her teeth worriedly across her bottom lip, eyes lost in thought. “Whatever he is making you do in your deal—”

“He isn’t making me do anything.”

“You’re giving him something in return for this information, Gabriel.”

With a sigh, Gabriel cradled her face in his hands, broad palms practically swallowing her cheeks up as he drew her close and placed a single kiss between those furrowed brows. A gesture she only ever allowed from him. 

“I don’t owe Hanzo anything for this info, I promise.” He assured her while locking their eyes. “He’s actually the one paying me back for something I did last year.” When Amelie opened her mouth to speak, Gabriel silenced her with a raised finger. “What it was, I swore not to reveal. Part of the arrangement.” 

Amelie didn’t look convinced, skepticism dancing across her features. The tension did noticeably loosen from her body, though. He watched her shoulders sag through her defeated exhale. 

“Fine.”

Gabriel doubted he had heard the end of her concerns, but was grateful for the silence as she accompanied him on his walk back to his car. Partway, however, Amelie bid him goodnight and crossed the street, stating other plans for the evening. Gabriel knew better than to question it as he watched her go. Whatever matters she had to attend to at nearly midnight on a Saturday were her business alone. He almost wondered if she was meeting with someone, but thought better of it. He’d never once in their two years of friendship seen her with a lover, and she’d always seemed to shrink away at the mere idea of romantic intimacy. Amelie often lashed out at any man who dared attempt to get close, like the very thought of being wanted angered her.

Gabriel wondered why that was. She hardly ever spoke of her past. 

Not that he felt any different, himself. Bouncing back from the end of a fifteen-year relationship was even more harrowing than it sounded. Gabriel couldn’t even recall the last time he’d been on a goddamn date. 

His parked Escalade gleamed like obsidian beneath the harsh street lights, but as he fished for his keys, he noticed something missing.

“My lighter…” he murmured to himself, patting the front of his jacket down, but feeling no trace of the zippo’s familiar weight. He must’ve left the damn thing on the bar. 

Before Gabriel could weave passed the smoking crowds to return inside, the familiar sound of jangling spurs drew his attention down a narrow stretch of alleyway between The Dragon and the upscale Italian restaurant next door. He paused on the sidewalk, catching an unmistakable groan of pleasure spilling from the darkness of that alley as he peered through. In what little light the streetlamps offered, there was no missing it: the hat he’d been seeking out for a better part of his evening. Jesse had his back turned to Gabriel, face buried into the neck of some asshole he had pinned roughly against the damp stone wall. Said asshole was groaning softly—there was no missing that sound, even with the muffled music—head lulled drunkenly to the side while fingers curled into the fabric at the back of Jesse’s shirt, clutching desperately. Gabriel almost thought he heard Jesse’s gentle hum, almost thought he saw those hips give a slow and sensuous roll forward.

Almost thought he felt his own stomach fall as if he’d been dropped from an incredible height. 

Gabriel forced his eyes away. Forced his feet forward. Forced himself back into The Dragon where the pounding baseline could swallow up the sound of jealousy gnawing at his ribcage to get to his heart.

* * *

Jesse scoured The Dragon for his next victim. 

The former Detective he’d met outside had been the initial target, but Jesse hadn’t expected himself to genuinely enjoy his company once the conversation had been sparked. It was supposed to be like any other strike; focus on an unsuspecting human, flirt to gain some semblance of trust and closeness, then lead them away to feed. Humans fell into the pattern so easily, lured to a vampire’s beckoning call. It was almost trance-like, the way they allowed their veins to be taken, to be devoured in the shadows. A gentle, intimate act that ended with a sweet brush against their brows to wipe their memories clean. 

Simple, efficient. Jesse had done it countless times, and yet the more he spoke to this former Detective—this Gabriel Reyes—the more he came to realize how much he didn’t want to be forgotten by him. 

Their meeting had only been brief, and yet they’d spoken like long friends reunited, with an ease and a familiarity that enveloped Jesse in a sensation not unlike returning home. It’d been effortless, and even after Gabriel had disappeared through the nightclub doors, Jesse found himself lingering in the final exhale of smoke he’d left in his wake. 

It was the gnawing bite of bloodthirst in his stomach that made him resume his hunt.

The rhythmic baseline pounded up through the soles of his boots as he crossed the dancefloor, broad shoulders parting the wall of half-naked bodies like a biblical sea. Jesse breathed in the pungent scent of sweat and sex and alcohol, listened to the laughter and the jangle of women’s jewelry as they bounced along to the music. The Dragon had always proved to be one of the prime hunting grounds for his kind, the establishment owned by one of the last pure-blooded vampire families in the world—the Shimadas. Even now, Jesse could sense other vampires scouring the club, eager to feed. He was surprised that Genji Shimada was nowhere in sight, not even as Jesse peered toward the VIP section behind a velvet rope on the opposite end of the club. Like his brother, Genji was centuries old; but appeared to be nothing more than a mere boy in his twenties with a lively laugh and little interest in the secret human business the Shimadas prided themselves with. He was a reckless, privileged wild child who flaunted his wealth at the countless VIP parties he threw, but his heart was always in the right place. In the few times Jesse had passed through California on his travels to evade Deadlock, he’d always made sure to share a drink with Genji before departing. 

He was one of the few in this world that Jesse almost considered a friend. 

Jesse paused his stride, eyes instantly catching hold of Gabriel on the other side of the room. It was difficult to miss him, gleaming black leather stretched taught across wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He was marching up the spiral staircase that led to the private upper floor where Hanzo Shimada oversaw his business, followed closely behind by a tall, stunning woman that Jesse immediately sensed was also one of his kind. 

Gabriel was surrounded by vampires, and Jesse almost wondered if he had any clue.

He made for the bar, first. Humans were easiest to pick off, there. But as Jesse got close, he noticed something familiar glinting unnoticed on the bar top: a tarnished gold zippo lighter. He snatched it up, cradling the cool weight of it in the palm of his hand. His thumb brushed across an image embossed on its surface: a skull within a wreath of blossoming flames. Beneath it, an engraving that read: HAPPY RETIREMENT. Jesse tucked it away into the pocket of his own jacket for safe-keeping, having every intention of using it as an excuse for another exchange of words with the former Detective.

He found his target shortly after that; a green-eyed blonde nursing a bottle of cheap tequila all on his own. The scent of it was thick on his breath as they spoke, muddled only beneath the assaulting stench of cologne Jesse was sure the guy dunked his whole body in before arriving at the bar. Still, he laid on that southern charm, hat tipped forward, fingers idly brushing against the knockoff Rolex on his target’s wrist. Jesse could hear the guy’s heartbeat thundering louder than the base, could sense the blood pumping wildly through his veins. His stomach groaned with hunger. Jesse leaned in just enough to brush his lips against the shell of his target’s ear, right above his pulse point. His fangs ached, desperate to pierce, and his target was soaking it right up, basking in the attentions. It wasn’t long before Jesse was tugging him eagerly through the crowds and out into the shadowed alleyway between The Dragon and its neighboring building. 

Jesse had him pinned to the rough brick wall in seconds, arms caging his target in while his tongue ran a slow line up the column of the guy’s throat. He tried not to cringe at the sour taste of aftershave, tuned out the slurred, filthy words tumbling drunkenly out of the guy’s mouth, and ignored the weight of the lighter in his pocket as though it somehow felt heavier than before. Fangs elongating, Jesse buried his face into the warm crook of his target’s neck, and struck. The soft, pleased gasp of a human being bitten always got to him, and he hummed, hips tilting forward when the rich splash of blood soaked his tongue. His target went quiet in his arms, falling into that trance-like state as Jesse drank. The strength surged within him almost immediately, soothing the ache of his hunger, and promising a harmless kiss of sunlight when morning came. 

The sun would always be worth subjecting himself to this. 

He didn’t take as much as he normally did. The scent of his target’s cologne was growing nauseating, especially in their proximity. Slowly, Jesse drew back, tongue gently swiping across the twin puncture wounds to seal them shut. When he straightened, he carded one hand back through the guy’s stiff blonde hair, erasing all trace of their interaction from his memory. His target swayed, disoriented, and slumped down against the wall while his body recovered from the blood loss. He’d be dizzy for a while, and Jesse slipped soundless back into the shadows before he could be noticed. 

It was easy, leaving his targets like that when he encountered them at a bar. Having your mind wiped by a vampire shared many a similarity with waking up after a drunken blackout. 

Jesse knew the guy had consumed enough cheap tequila for there not to be any questions.

When he returned to The Dragon, he was surprised and more than a little thrilled to catch sight of Gabriel at the bar, speaking softly to the bartender with his female companion nowhere in sight. His heart thundered, a different flavor of hunger searing through his veins. Hand slipping into his pocket to cradle the lighter in an iron grip, Jesse crossed the dancefloor to his side. 

“Back so soon?” He almost purred, prompting the former Detective to turn around.

Gabriel Reyes was beautiful. Devastatingly so. Broad and thickly built—though Jesse was thicker—with an astonishingly small waist to grant him sweeping curves that no human should ever be allowed to have. The lights cast harsh shadows across the sharp, sculpted planes of his face, and still managed to gleam over the dark hair he’d buzzed down to his skull. Even in the darkness of the club, Jesse’s eyes were drawn to the various scars that marred the warm, brown skin of Gabriel’s face. Long slashes that cut across his cheeks and nose, tiny cuts upon his lip and eyebrow and into his dark beard. Jesse’s fingers clenched where they lay hidden within the pockets of his jacket, aching to reach out, to touch and trace. And that thick, graceful neck. Jesse wondered what it would be like to bury his face against it, to breathe in the warm musk of smoke and leather that lingered on Gabriel. 

Gabriel’s deep-set eyes caught him off guard. When the former Detective turned, Jesse was met with a glare that made him want to leap back as though he’d been burned.

“Just looking for something I misplaced here,” all lightheartedness had been bled from Gabriel’s smooth, silken voice. He cast his gaze around before dropping it to the sticky marbled floor. “Where’s your friend?”

“My…?” Jesse frowned before realization set in. 

Fuck, how much had Gabriel seen?

“Aw hell, you mean the sidewinder I left high and dry in the alley?” Jesse played it off with a scoff and swatted the air with his hand. “He ain’t anybody.”

Gabriel didn’t seem convinced, brows knitted tight, eyes still focused downward. There was a sharp bite in his tone. “Didn’t seem like nobody from the way you two were pawing at each other.”

If Jesse didn’t know any better, he’d say that Gabriel sounded downright hurt, and if that didn’t just set his stomach fluttering. He couldn’t suppress the grin. “Jealous?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar, darlin’.”

Gabriel shook his head, and made a move to leave. “You know what, it’s none of my goddamn business. I don’t even know you.”

Feeling a surge of bravery, he took a step forward right into the former Detective’s space, chests colliding, and a thrill shot up his spine when Gabriel halted his step and didn’t retreat. The heat emanating from that body was dizzying. Jesse could hear the pounding of a heartbeat like a volcanic roar in his ears, and he wasn’t sure if it was Gabriel’s or his own. Perhaps both.

“He ain’t anybody,” Jesse repeated himself softly. He even pushed up the brim of his hat so that Gabriel could get a better look at his face, and the sincerity in his eyes. “Just some nameless drunk that got a bit handsy, and I’ll admit I fell for it at first. Been a long while since I’ve been with anyone, but…” he smiled that crooked smile of his. “Unless you think I’m that quick on the draw, sugar, you best believe I left him before anythin’ happened between us.”

Gabriel was silent for a while, contemplative, but Jesse could see a sort of softness return to his features, could feel the tension melt from his muscles. 

“Have you seen my lighter anywhere?” Gabriel asked.

Jesse drew it from his jacket pocket and held it up. Gabriel’s eyes widened, fixing him with an accusatory stare.

“Found it on the bar while you were upstairs, darlin’,” Jesse explained. “Reckon I thought it’d be safer in my hands than just leavin’ it there for anyone to take. Plus, I may have been hopin’ to use it as an excuse to talk to ya again.”

When the former Detective went to take the lighter from his hand, Jesse playfully held it out of reach. Not that Gabriel wouldn’t be able to wrestle it back from him, but he was hardly trying. Their hot exhales collided, faces dangerously close while a smirk was shared between them.

“How ‘bout that drink?” Jesse whispered. 

“To tell you the truth I’ve had my fill of this place for the night.” Gabriel responded. He watched Jesse from beneath a fan of long, dark lashes. God, he was all sorts of gorgeous. “Are you hungry?”

Jesse’s grin widened enough to reveal the very tips of his fangs, but trusted the darkness of the club to hide them. “I could eat.”

Gabriel held his hand out expectantly, and Jesse gently placed the lighter onto the center of his palm. He let the skin of their fingers brush, and in that moment something between them shifted, pulling them closer together though neither of their bodies physically moved. And something in Jesse, something within his blood that had long laid dormant, awakened with a sudden and shuddering flare. His spine tensed up, every cell in his body, every hair that stood upright on his flesh, longed for this human before him. 

Longed to know him, and desperately ached to be known by him in return. 

Oh no.

“Jesse… are you okay?” 

Jesse blinked. Blinked again. Gabriel was staring at him with concern, and hell, he could only imagine how he must’ve looked to the guy. Eyes wide, maw gaping open, breath rocketing out of his chest in quickening bursts. And there was a sound. A low, rumbling growl that rang louder in his ears than the baseline. It was pouring from his own throat. Shaking his head, Jesse took a small step back, and already his body was shrieking to return to Gabriel’s natural warmth. He dropped his face into his hands. His skin was scalding. His every nerve buzzing as though a bolt of lightning had come down and struck a devastating crater of vulnerability into his chest. 

That’s when Jesse felt them; a pair of strong hands folding around his upper arms and keeping him still, keeping him stable and secure. He looked up at the genuine worry in those deep brown eyes, and a part of him silently wept for his father, for his mother. Jesse had a feeling he knew what had just occurred, what the inner workings of his vampiric biology had just declared, but he felt utterly lost without their assurance. He had no other vampires in his life to turn to about it. Not unless he could somehow find Genji. 

“I just... think I need some air.” He managed to say.

Gabriel nodded firmly, and Jesse felt himself being gently led through the crowds and out into the gasping night. A cool sprinkling rain was pouring from what little clouds remained overhead, and Jesse removed his hat to turn his face up to the skies. The droplets were soothing as they fell against his fevered skin, and he breathed a relieved sigh as his long, tousled bangs clung wetly to his brow. Still, that aching feeling lingered, though softer now, simmering just below the surface. 

“Better?” He heard Gabriel ask, and Jesse turned to see the former Detective watching him intently, thick arms folded over his chest.

He nodded, suddenly all-too aware of how he’d inadvertently put a damper on the mood. Jesse shifted bashfully, fingers curling into the brim of his hat as he held it close to his chest. All previous flirtatious confidence had been drained from him, and his shoulders slumped forward. 

“Sorry ‘bout that, darlin’.”

“Don’t apologize,” Gabriel smiled warmly in return, and Jesse couldn’t help but love the way the neon light hit the rainwater that clung to his dark skin. Heaven help him, that human looked ethereal. “Just glad you’re alright. You scared me, there.”

“I’d understand if ya wanted to head home…”

That’s when Gabriel scoffed. “My offer for food still stands if you’re up for it, cowboy.”

Jesse’s smile was small. A part of him knew it’d be best to decline, to bid Gabriel farewell and return to the cheap little hotel he’d been staying at since arriving in LA the day before. To spend anymore time with this human would be a risk on both of their parts. He wasn’t supposed to grow attached, to make friends, to allow anyone anywhere the opportunity to get to know him. Deadlock was a prominent threat in California, and he’d made a vow long ago to keep anyone from the same fate that had befallen his parents. 

He just hadn’t expected his own goddamn body to turn on him.

As Jesse opened his mouth to say goodnight, the softness of Gabriel’s expression trapped the words deep in his throat, and he knew he was done for.

“Lead the way, sugar.”

* * *

The Clinic was Los Angeles’ most well-kept secret, hidden deep underground beneath the crumbling remains of an abandoned fire hall. The first and only medical facility in the city dedicated solely to providing healthcare to the vampire species. As Amelie descended the concrete stairs leading to its front entrance, her heels flattened the vines and weeds that had pushed themselves up through the suffocating cracks. A sleek number pad sat mounted by the doorframe, and Amelie keyed in the code that all patients of Dr. Angela Ziegler—the Clinic’s founder—were provided. There came a pause, a soft click, and a faint hum as the lights on the pad flicked to green. A heavy whiff of disinfectant and citrus floor cleaner assaulted her nose as she passed through the door, but was grateful the Clinic didn’t share the blinding florescent lighting of human hospitals. The space was warmly lit by sconces mounted evenly along the dark floral wallpaper, and the floor was tiled in slate. 

Unlike hospitals, the Clinic was rarely busy. Properly nourished vampires carried within their biology a remarkable immunity to all forms of disease, virus, and infection, as well as the ability to self-heal, but only to a certain degree of severity. Without an almost daily intake of blood, a vampire’s regenerative abilities begin to flounder, weaken. They become vulnerable to the most basic threat. Amelie had once gone three days without feeding, and suffered a ghastly case of what humans referred to as “a head cold”. A horrid, undignified experience that she’d rather soon forget. 

That was the second purpose of the Clinic; to provide blood to those who could not seek it out, themselves. In the daylight hours, Angela worked as the lead Coroner at Mercy General Hospital, which allowed her the opportunity to steal litres of drained and donated human blood to feed their kind. Dozens of bags were kept freshly frozen within the Clinic at all hours, ready to offer nourishment to any vampire who required it. They were a rare bunch, those who could not scour the streets of LA to hunt for human targets. Most vampires had family or lovers who could provide the blood at home. 

But there were some, like Amelie, who relied on the bagged kind to survive. 

She couldn’t bear the intimacy of the act, of taking the vein of another living creature. Of pressing close and sinking deep into their throats. The very thought of it suffocated her beneath the weight of guilt, and the thought of betraying the husband who now lay cold in the depths of the earth. 

Amelie paused her stride in the middle of the Clinic’s main corridor, fingers lifting to brush against her throat at the thought of the man who had been taken from her, the man who she’d seen slain right before her eyes in the parlor of their estate in the sleepy French countryside. Her husband of over a century, her precious and beloved Gerard. They’d been too young, too foolish, marrying just after the embers of the French Revolution had died out. His highborn family of pure-blooded vampires had been utterly scandalized by their union. Those of pure blood always mated those of pure blood. But Gerard cared little for lineage and heirs, and loved her passionately, unconditionally, and selflessly until the last breath was stolen from his lungs. For too short a time, they’d been unreasonably happy. 

Talon, Europe’s own division of bloodthirsty humans who hunted their kind, had shorn his head from his shoulders right before her young eyes. Managing to escape, Amelie had desperately sought refuge in the arms of Gerard’s family, but they’d turned her away as she shook with fear upon their doorstep. She should not have been so surprised, especially as they chose to blame her for his murder. Her common bloodline tainted with the filth of human ancestors was riddled in bad luck. Half-bloods were unnatural to the point of being omens, that is what Gerard’s family had believed. Shattered, Amelie had no other choice but to flee the country.

When she crossed the sea to America, the Clinic had been her salvation. The blood Angela provided kept her alive, kept her strong enough to walk in the warmth of sunlight, to dedicate her life teaching ballet to the human children she so adored. Strangely so, she had never once wept for the loss of Gerard, the shock of witnessing his execution numbing her to an almost emotionless state. Her heart became an icy husk of what it once was. 

Amelie doubted she would ever again find love, and almost wondered if she even wanted to. 

She found Angela alone in one of the smaller examination rooms, attention focused downward as she scribbled something on the clipboard in her hands. Small tendrils of blonde hair that had escaped her ponytail had been tucked daintily behind one ear. When Amelie knocked softly upon the doorframe, those blue eyes lifted, and a smile came upon the young doctor’s face. 

“Right on schedule,” Angela said. Amelie had always been fond of that soft German accent. “So good to see you again, Miss Lacroix.”

“I wouldn’t miss an appointment,” Amelie replied.

Like clockwork, Angela led her down the same set of small hallways, passed various surgical suites and patient rooms that were nearly all empty, until at last they came upon the industrial sized freezer better suited for a restaurant than a medical facility. Amelie hung back patiently as the good doctor keyed her own personal code into the pad by the door, before popping it open and stepping inside. The cool blast of air that poured into the hallway was soothing, and Amelie exhaled, unsure of when her skin had grown so heated.

Oh. Right. At The Dragon, in the presence of that pure-blooded male who’d somehow struck a deal with Gabriel. Amelie didn’t trust the bastard as far as she could toss him, and it had much to do with the untainted lineage he carried. Since Gerard’s family, Amelie found it difficult to grant any form of trust or respect toward the pure-blooded. They were the vile, arrogant, wickedly cruel side of the race, and who was to say that Hanzo Shimada was any different from the rest? A shiver coursed down the length of Amelie’s spine when she recalled the dark, secretive smile he had offered her, and the blatant threat it carried. Gabriel had no inkling of what she was, and Hanzo had seen no issue with revealing it should Amelie dare step out of line. It had taken every bit of strength to hold her tongue in that office. 

Granted, she’d let a few vicious words slip despite herself, but Hanzo had deserved her skepticism. Whatever he was taking from Gabriel in their deal couldn’t have been good. Thankfully, she now knew that blood was out of the question. Her dear friend’s wrists had been devoid of scarring when she checked, and there was no way Hanzo could be feeding from his throat, as Gabriel was still undeniably human as far as she could sense. Only the bite of a pure-blooded vampire at the neck could turn a human, but no such sin had been committed since the dark ages. The act was gravely forbidden.

Still, Amelie had a feeling that Hanzo Shimada was hiding something, and she had every intention of finding out.

And it had nothing to do with the tiny, irritating desire to see him again. 

Whatever nonsense that was about.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…” Angela stated as she finally emerged from the freezer. 

“That’s never a good sign,” Amelie teased.

The good doctor smiled as the door was shut behind her. In her hand, she held three medical-grade blood bags, enough to sate Amelie for a week or two should she ration them properly. The icy bite of the frozen plastic stung Amelie’s fingertips as she took each one and tucked them away into her purse. They would need to thaw for hours before she could feed. 

“You’ve been using me as your only source of blood for decades, now,” Angela explained while shoving both hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “I have many patients that do so, but none for as long as you have. They’ve all eventually moved on, found a mate to feed from, or the courage to hunt again. But not you.”

Amelie had a feeling she knew where such a conversation was headed, and turned her attentions to the wallpaper ahead as though, somehow, she could lose herself in its patterns. Not so. The delicate, sweeping curls of gold filigree amidst the dark flowers only reminded her of home. So many things did; the taste of pastry crème, the sound of a single violin in an echoing space, the scent of the air after a spring rainfall. She’d long ago assumed that California would be the furthest thing to remind her of France, but somehow it all still seemed to haunt her, anyway.

“Your point?” She bit out.

“You’ve never actively sat down and discussed with me the reason as to why you won’t move on from Gerard.”

Amelie visibly flinched. She hated the sound of his name spoken aloud. It felt like the cold press of a silver dagger wrenching into her heart. She pressed her lips into a thin line, heels scuffing against the tiled floor as she shifted her stance. Her arms crossed beneath her breasts.

“I can’t move on.” She heard herself breathe. 

“You can,” Angela’s voice was gentle as she hesitantly reached out and folded one delicate hand around the proud curve of Amelie’s shoulder. The doctor moved as though she were in the presence of an animal very close to fleeing. “You simply won’t. And I’d be more than willing to take the time to talk to you about it.”

Amelie frowned deeply, turning to stare into those infuriatingly kind eyes. “I thought you weren’t that kind of doctor.”

“I wouldn’t be doing this as your doctor,” Angela responded while giving Amelie’s upper arm a tender squeeze. “It would be as your friend.”

The idea of drawing all that horror and heartache into the forefront of her mind when she’d spent too long trying to supress it, to shove it all away into the darkest recesses of her memory, made Amelie’s stomach lurch. She stepped back, tearing herself from Angela’s grip. “No. Thank you.”

The sigh that escaped the doctor’s lips dripped with sadness as she dropped her hand to her side. Still, she offered one of those warm, optimistic smiles, which only made Amelie feel worse. 

“When you’re ready, then.” Angela said.

As Amelie left the Clinic, she doubted she ever would be. 

* * *

“What, on God’s good earth, is a fuckin’ poutine?”

From where he stood in line, Gabriel could see the perplexed expression flash across Jesse’s face, both hands fisted upon his hips as he took in the menu on the other side of the counter. The poutinerie they’d ventured to down the road from The Dragon was harshly lit by long fluorescent bulbs that buzzed like summer black flies overhead, the cool air scented heavily of fryer grease and freshly cut potatoes. It was a dive in every sense of the word, but Gabriel recalled many a good night spent here after a long stakeout. It was one of the few joints actually open passed midnight, making most of its profits off of the drunken club-goers that staggered in. 

“French fries, gravy, and cheese curds,” Gabriel explained through an endeared smile as he leaned back against the wooden fence that separated the seating area from the take-out line. “It’s a popular Canadian dish. Hard to believe you’ve never heard of it.”

“I ain’t ever ventured that far up north,” Jesse frowned, tipping the brim of his hat back as though the better lighting would somehow make the menu look more appealing. His nose wrinkled as he took in the various ingredients the establishment allowed one to slather all over a heaping basket of fries. Bacon, caramelized onions, spoonfuls of spicy chili, and even pesto sauce with goat cheese. 

That last combination had always been Gabriel’s personal favorite, odd as it was.

“You order first, darlin’, I ain’t made up my mind, yet.” Jesse said.

Gabriel grinned and strode up to the counter to place his order, noting the look of disgust on Jesse’s face when he heard it.

“Now that’s just all kinds of wrong.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you give it a shot, cowboy.” Gabriel responded as he reached for his wallet, but didn’t pay quite yet. “Your turn.”

Jesse took another small moment to decide, before joining Gabriel at the counter. As he addressed the young woman working the register, he swept off his hat and held it to the front of his chest, like a gentleman of the old west. Gabriel stared at him in quiet astonishment. 

“I’ll take one of them poutines with chili and jalapenos, ma’am,” Jesse said to her. “If you’d be so kind.”

Once their orders were rung through and paid for by Gabriel—after some arguing on Jesse’s part—they returned to leaning against the wooden fence to await their food.

“You have a fascinating way of talking,” he told Jesse. “Very old-fashioned.”

“Aw hell,” Jesse chuckled as he plopped his hat back onto his head. “That’s just cause of where I’m from.”

“I’ve never met a south westerner that talks like you.”

“Darlin’, you ain’t ever met anyone like me.” There was a dark glint in Jesse’s eye when he spoke those words. The kind that made a shiver course down the curve of Gabriel’s spine. “I suppose I was just brought up different than most. My momma…” he paused, swallowed, cast his eyes to the red and white checkered floor beneath them before continuing. “…she raised me proper.”

“She did well,” Gabriel smiled gently, feeling the sadness reverberate from Jesse’s broad shoulders at the mere mention of his mother. Gabriel wanted to reach out and touch him, soothe him with a press of his hand to his back, but he remained still, fingers curling into the fencepost behind him. “I kind of love the way you talk.”

That made Jesse fall quiet, and Gabriel mentally kicked himself, convinced he had somehow gone too far and said something wrong. That is until a slow, wicked little smirk appeared on the cowboy’s face. The kind that both worried and excited him. 

“Do you, now?”

When Gabriel nodded, Jesse shifted in closer until he felt the long press of that strong body against his side. God, how could one person be so incredibly warm? Jesse was like a living furnace that smelled of sparked gunpowder and smooth whiskey. 

“So, what you’re sayin’ is that I could pretty much talk your pants off, right?” Jesse said in a lowered voice, and Gabriel sputtered, heat blooming into his cheeks as he tried to supress the laugh. Still, Jesse continued. “Betcha I could just read off the menu and you’d be a mess.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm,” Jesse leaned in close, real close, until the hot wash of his exhale caressed the shell of Gabriel’s ear. Goosebumps appeared immediately, skittering across every inch of Gabriel’s skin. Jesse whispered low, and slow, letting his accent pour like honey over the words he spoke. “Extra large poutine with beef gravy and bacon.”

Gabriel’s entire upper body was shaking, head turned away and eyes squeezed tight as he struggled to contain his laughter.

“Sautéed mushrooms, baby green peas, grilled chicken,” Jesse kept going, reading each ingredient in that smooth drawl until Gabriel had practically keeled over. “That doin’ it for ya, darlin’? You look like you’re gettin’ a little hot under the collar.”

“Stop,” Gabriel wheezed, clapping one hand over his face as he cracked up.

“I’m gonna move on to the drink menu, now. It’s a little more intense, so kindly try and keep calm and don’t bend me over the counter ‘till I’m done.”

Gabriel had to gently shove him away, their mingled laughter filling the space until a few people visibly turned in their seats to eye them oddly. The muscles of his abdomen ached, and as he wiped the moisture from his eyes with the back of his sleeve, he noted the way Jesse was looking at him. There was a quiet softness in his dark eyes that made Gabriel feel utterly exposed, vulnerable, and yet so wildly cherished that it made his stomach clench for an entirely different reason. 

“What?” He heard himself ask.

There was the faintest flicker of a smile, there. “I love your laugh.”

Gabriel’s heart surged to life, thundering against the confines of his ribcage, and for a small moment, he saw Jesse’s eyes drop to his chest as though he had somehow heard it from where he stood a few feet away. 

“Your smile, too,” Jesse added softly. 

Gabriel had to look away, warmth blossoming from within his body while all words in the English language were utterly lost to his mess of a brain. Breath quickening, he rushed up to the counter when their orders were called, thankful for the brief distraction from the way Jesse was gently watching him. He hadn’t felt this—he supposed flustered was the proper word for it—in years. God, it was high school all over again. Not even Jack had made him this nervous, this shy, this taken aback with nothing but soft words and an even softer look. 

Food in hand, they left the poutinerie just as the rainfall began to pick up above them. Fat droplets pounded against the pavement and poured in streams from eavestroughs and the canopy of a nearby flower shop. Thinking quickly, Gabriel unlocked the trunk of his Escalade and threw the hatch up, allowing he and Jesse to climb inside its dry warmth. There, they sat side by side with their legs stretched out in front of them, listening to the roar of passing cars across the slickened road as they devoured their late-night meal.

“That looks terrible,” Jesse said around a mouthful of chili-slathered fries, staring warily at Gabriel’s own poutine as though it would leap up and bite him. 

Gabriel chuckled, fork pushing his fries around in their take-out box until they became evenly coated in fragrant green pesto and rich, melted goat cheese. Gathering up a generous amount, he held the fork out to Jesse. “Try it.”

Jesse stared at him. Not the offered food. “Are… you feedin’ me?”

“Possibly.”

“Y’know if I vomit all over yer pretty car, you only have yourself to blame, sugar.”

“I’ll wipe it up with your hat, cowboy.”

“Like hell you will.”

Gabriel smiled when Jesse leaned in and took the offered bite of food into his mouth, breath catching a little as he closely studied the way those lips folded around the fork. Jesse clewed slowly while he drew back, expression scrunched tightly as though unsure if he was enjoying what he was tasting. Gabriel grinned all the while, wildly amused. 

“So?” 

Jesse finally swallowed hard, and pressed his mouth into a thin line. “That was fuckin’ good.”

“Ha!” Gabriel declared triumphantly. “My former partner at the LAPD thought the combination was awful, too, until I convinced her to try it. Now it’s all she orders there.”

Jesse swept off his hat and set it beside him, granting Gabriel a proper view of his face and dark, tousled hair. It was trimmed short at the back of his neck, and left to grow longer on the top and front of his head. He had bangs just begging to be swept back, to be touched with knowing fingers. His thick, old-fashioned sideburns grew down the side of his angular jaw until they formed a slight beard that stopped just before reaching his proud chin. Jesse had no mustache as Gabriel did, but the look suited him. He seemed not of this time, or even this century. 

“Yer starin’ at me.”

Gabriel hadn’t realized until Jesse’s voice thrust him back into reality, and quickly tore his eyes away to focus on his food once more. “Sorry.”

“Never said it was a complaint, darlin’.” 

Jesse then reached out and brushed his jaw so lightly that if Gabriel hadn’t seen him do it out of the corner of his eye, he wouldn’t have noticed the touch. Startled, he turned to look at Jesse, who had retracted his hand quickly, and was clenching and unclenching his fingers at his side as though he had little control of his actions. Gabriel quietly wondered if he regretted it. Wondered if he was just as unsure, just as nervous as he was. 

“So, do you miss it?” Jesse asked after a soft clearing of his throat. “Bein’ a Detective?”

Gabriel sat back, chewing thoughtfully as he considered his answer. “Every day.”

“Why’d ya leave, then?” Jesse frowned, pointing at Gabriel with the end of his fork for emphasis. “And don’t go sayin’ a change of scenery again. Ain’t no one gonna willingly give up a career they love just for a different view.”

Gabriel had to chuckle, if not sadly. For a long time, he was silent, pushing what remained of his fries around the bottom of the container. He became deeply aware of Jesse watching him, patiently awaiting a response. 

“My ex husband,” he finally admitted, so softly that he wondered if Jesse heard him over the roar of rainfall. “He and I worked together. Met at the academy, married five years into our relationship. After he got a promotion and work became his main priority, we drifted apart. Things… got tense. I was angry all the goddamn time. At him, at myself. I’d worked my ass off for so long with hopes of getting promoted to Captain, but they offered it to my husband instead. I don’t even think I was considered.” A bitter scoff escaped him. “Thing is, that didn’t even hurt the most. What killed me was that he accepted it. After being at my side for so long, knowing that Captain was what I strived for, the bastard actually had the balls to take the job.”

Jesse said nothing, so Gabriel allowed himself to continue. 

“I tried to accept it at first. Hell, if anyone other than myself was gonna rock that job, it’d be Jack, but it didn’t take long for that power to get to his head. He was too devoted to saving face, to looking good for the press and the people. He wouldn’t take risks anymore. He became so by-the-book it was like he practically wrote the fucking thing. I couldn’t handle it, because that was not the man I had loved.”

“So ya left him?” Jesse asked.

“It was oddly mutual,” Gabriel replied. “I couldn’t take his ego any longer. And he’d become so lost in his job that he’d fallen out of love with me.”

“Hard to believe anyone could do that…”

Gabriel smiled faintly. “It happens. We divorced two years ago, and I retired not long afterward. We couldn’t work together, and neither of us were keen on getting transferred out of LA. So I was the bigger man and stepped down. I had enough saved in my retirement fund, as well as from my parent’s estate when they passed, so I really don’t need to work anymore. We sold our house, split the profits, I got myself a cozy bachelor pad in the heart of LA. I’m fuckin’ swell.” He set aside his fries and moved to lie flat on his back with a hefty sigh. “Granted, my life is now boring as shit.”

“Including tonight?”

“Tonight’s an exception.” Gabriel smirked and folded both hands upon his stomach. He could feel the solid weight of the manila envelope in his inside jacket pocket at this angle, and was suddenly reminded of the good he was still managing to do for this city, even without his badge. The tension that had knotted up his stomach from speaking of Jack quickly loosened, but he became aware of Jesse gazing down at him, bangs falling over his brow. Gabriel couldn’t help but think that he looked gorgeous at this angle. 

“Do you still love him?” Jesse asked.

Gabriel locked his eyes firmly. He wasn’t sure why, but something within him desperately needed Jesse to know that he spoke the truth. “No.”

If he’d known any better, he’d think he just watched Jesse’s body deflate in utter relief. Quietly, Jesse turned his attentions to the rain that had finally begun to ease outside of the Escalade, hands wringing upon his lap, striking profile illuminated by the street lamps. He seemed consumed by thought, battling with something inward that Gabriel wasn’t sure he should ask about. He sat up, but before he could speak, Jesse picked up his hat. 

“I should get goin’.”

The disappointment felt like an icy bedsheet had just been thrown over his body, but Gabriel nodded nonetheless. “It’s getting late. Do you need a ride home?”

“Nah,” Jesse smiled and hopped out of the Escalade’s trunk, boots sloshing in a puddle while his spurs jangled. He gestured over to an old motorcycle parked just a few feet away. “That baby’s mine.”

“I don’t see a helmet.” Gabriel cocked one dark brow. 

“Don’t wear one.”

“You know that’s illegal.”

Spinning on one heel, Jesse extended both arms to Gabriel, allowing his wrists to hang limp. “Much as I’ve been envisioning you handcuffin’ me all night, darlin’, if you gotta book me…”

Gabriel clicked his tongue through a growing smile and pushed his arms away. He walked Jesse over to his motorcycle, which he now realized was a gorgeously vintage red Harley with brown leather seating, and watched as he mounted it on one graceful sweep before kicking the growling engine to life. Jesse’s hand was then extended his way, and Gabriel stared down at it in bewilderment for a moment before grasping it in his own. What he believed would be nothing but a formal handshake suddenly shifted as Jesse drew Gabriel’s hand up to his mouth and placed a long, lingering kiss against his knuckles. Their gazes never wavered from each other, Gabriel gasping at the softness of Jesse’s lips, and the way he exhaled against the backs of his fingers before finally letting go. 

“Sleep well tonight, sugar,” Jesse said so softly, it was nearly drowned out by the engine. “Be seein’ you.”

“Hope so,” Gabriel blurted before he could stop himself.

Now it was Jesse’s turn to drop his eyes with a bashful smile, but there was something else there. A hint of sadness that Gabriel couldn’t quite understand, dancing just beneath the surface of that expression. He wanted to ask, but before the words could come to him, Jesse’s motorcycle gave off a startling roar as it took off like a bullet down the road. 

As Gabriel stared after him, he could feel some small broken part of himself begin to mend.


	2. Chapter Two

For the next three days Jesse remained holed up within his hotel room, praying for the moment when the incessant, miserable ache for Gabriel Reyes would finally cease. In that time, he paced about the limited space like a caged wolf, boots wearing down the grimy old carpet while countless cigarillos contributed their part to the yellowed tint of the smoke-stained ceiling. He was on edge. His every nerve was alight, hands trembling as he wrung them, skin scalding with a heat that came from deep within, like a fever without the illness. Sleeping nude after an icy shower seemed to do the trick, if only temporarily, but the ache never truly left him.

And the bloodthirst. Oh, the bloodthirst was strong. 

Clad in nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans, Jesse sat himself on the edge of the squeaky old mattress, head nestled in the cradle of his shaking hands. He could feel his stomach clench and coil itself into knots, and he prayed the nausea would settle before it made him take off running to the toilet to heave up what little remained of his breakfast. The pain was tolerable for the most part—much more than it had been the first time he’d felt bloodthirst when he was a child—yet still there came moments that robbed Jesse of breath, and made him curl both arms around his midsection for comfort. Eyes clenched, Jesse whimpered into the quiet of his room. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried to sate it. The night after meeting Gabriel, he’d ventured out into the LA streets in search for a target, but the moment he’d had one in his grasp, the moment the unnamed human’s body had been pinned against the nearest shadowed wall, bare throat exposed and begging to be struck, Jesse just… couldn’t do it. 

Something inside him, something deeply rooted in his biology, had prevented him from feeding. And Jesse had a feeling it had to do with the ache that was plaguing his every thought.

Lifting his head, he regarded his reflection in the badly steaked mirror across from him. Christ, he looked like hell. The color had drained from his face, leaving him with a sickly pallor offset by the darkened circles around his heavy eyes. His flesh felt cold and clammy to the touch, and a fresh sheen of sweat glistened upon his brow even though he’d only just come out of the shower. When he smiled wide, his elongated fangs caught the buttery light from the lamp on the nightstand. They’d downright refused to recede back into his gums since the bloodthirst began. With a sigh, Jesse raked both hands back through his mussed hair, back arcing as he stretched long and languid, testing the growing stiffness of his joints and muscles. His whole body had begun to feel weighted down, each movement a struggle as though he were underwater. 

With blood no longer an option, he needed a temporary relief from this discomfort until he could figure out his next move.

He got up and made for the duffel bag on the other side of the bed, which carried within it the abysmal amount of personal possessions he owned. There was hardly anything to it; some flannel plaid shirts, a gold belt buckle, a fat roll of old bills and coins tucked into a black sock—the remnants of a bank he’d robbed in his earlier years alone down west. He couldn’t have had more than a few hundred left, but he’d make a fair chunk back hustling pool at his favorite bars once he finally left California.

Not that he was currently in much of a hurry. 

At the bottom of the duffel lay his most precious possessions, and he could see the barrel of Peacekeeper gleaming in the bedroom lighting as it stuck out from beneath the old red serape his mother had made. Now centuries old, the fabric was faded and threadbare, the ends tattered and riddled with bullet holes from countless gun slinging showdowns. It was barely holding itself together. But as Jesse carefully gathered it close and buried his nose against it, the scent of sun-scorched desert dust somehow still lingered in its stitches. With it, a new ache blossomed within him, though this one he was all-too familiar with. The ache for home, and family.

For love.

Jesse chose one of his cleaner plaid shirts and quickly dressed, hat plopping onto his head before he stuffed both arms into his jacket. Pausing at the one window the hotel room had to offer, he hesitantly reached out and drew one of the dark curtains aside. Rich, sherbet orange light bled through and onto the carpet by his boots. The sun was setting, and though it no longer carried the same intensity as it did in midday, Jesse was still nervous to reach out and experimentally touch the light. Upon contact, he half expected his goddamn hand to burst into flame, or at least sizzle like fried eggs on a skillet. The heat was extraordinary for a sun that was fading beneath the horizon, flesh tingling beneath the slanted beam of light as though the muscle beneath it had fallen asleep. There wasn’t so much pain as there was deep discomfort, and Jesse drew his hand back with a frown. When he looked down, the patch of skin that had been exposed seemed redder than the rest. He knew that the longer he deprived himself of nourishment, the worse it would become, and he couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the shadows.

“Damn it…” he muttered.

Jesse paced restlessly within the hotel room for fifteen more agonizing minutes until he was sure the worst of the sunset had passed, before finally heading to his bike. The cool evening air soothed his overheated flesh as took off down the narrow stretch of road. He breathed in deep, filling his lungs, loving the sensation of his hair whipping out behind him while he weaved through traffic to reach his destination. It reminded him of riding across the desert plains on one of the many stallions he’d owned in his youth, and he could still recall tossing his head back and basking in the freedom of an endless stretch of canyon paths before him. He often missed those days.

The coffee shop he often ventured to sat deep in the heart of downtown LA; an older establishment that often tended to the artistic crowds that flooded in from the nearby campuses. Jesse was thankful as he pulled up before its massive front window to see that it hadn’t gotten busy, yet. Inside, the cramped little space scented of roasted beans and aged wood, while glowing Edison bulbs dangled in elaborate iron cages over each table. The quaint, mismatched seating ranged from flower-patterned velvet chairs, to rickety old stools, to benches forged from sheets of scrap metal like some form of industrial art project. Plants hung from suspended baskets on the ceiling, their fronds and vines brushing against Jesse’s shoulders when he approached the counter, as though they were greeting an old friend. When the barista across the counter offered a bright smile, he ordered himself the one thing he knew could settle the ache in his gut.

“I’ll take a peppermint tea, miss,” he said, taking care not to smile too widely lest his fangs show. “Large, one sugar, if you’d be so kind.”

He’d long ago discovered how well his body responded to peppermint, how even chewing on leaves plucked fresh from the plant itself had its way of soothing the symptoms of bloodthirst. It wasn’t a cure, just a relief. A temporary pause on the inevitable agony his body would soon endure if it was not eventually sated. It was all Jesse needed while he figured out what to do about…

The moment the door to the café swung open behind him with the faint jingle of bothered chimes, every hair upon Jesse’s body stood on end. A sharp, electric current pulsed through the café, like the air seconds before a lightning strike. His body tensed, hunger thrumming deep at the very core. His eyes fell closed, fangs tingling at their roots, the intensity of his ache multiplying tenfold until he wanted nothing more than to curl into himself. He gripped onto the cup of peppermint tea in his shaking hands and cursed under his breath.

Of all the goddamned places.

“Jesse?”

At the sound of that smooth, familiar voice, Jesse found himself pivoting on the heel of his boot before he could stop himself. His heart surged within his chest. Gabriel Reyes was standing only feet away, dark eyes glinting in the glow of the surrounding Edison bulbs. He was dressed down, clad in a soft hoodie with a knitted beanie covering his shaved head. Jesse wanted nothing more than to step forward and bury himself against his warmth. To nestle against that neck, to run his tongue against the searing salt of his skin and sink his fangs deep into the…

He stopped that thought with all the grace of a record screeching into silence.

There was a human woman with him that Jesse didn’t recognize; dark skinned with mischievous eyes and a side-swept curtain of black hair tipped in striking violet. The left side of her head was buzzed down to her skull, and she had a laptop bag embellished in buttons and pins slung over one slender shoulder. He was vaguely aware of the way she was staring expectantly back and forth between him and Gabriel like a spectator at a tennis match, long-nails tapping at the screen of her phone. Jesse swallowed hard, realizing he hadn’t yet responded to Gabriel.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Subtle. 

“He’s just as cute as you described, Gabe,” the young woman grinned. 

Jaw cocking, Gabriel looked utterly mortified as he fixed her with a playful glare. “Go get that iced caramel bullshit you like so much before I kick your ass.”

The young woman approached the counter with a triumphant hop in her step, but not before placing one hand on Jesse’s shoulder and loudly whispering, “For the record, _vaquero_ , he hasn’t shut up about you in days.”

Jesse’s stomach downright backflipped.

“Sombra, you’re the bane of my existence.” Gabriel stated.

“Love you, too.”

They were granted a brief few moments of privacy while she ordered, and Jesse frowned as Gabriel’s expression shifted into genuine concern. 

“You look like hell,” he murmured.

“Thank you,” Jesse tried to laugh, but hardly had the strength for it. He took a long sip from the plastic lid covering his tea, feeling every muscle in his body exhale at the relief that followed. “Been feelin’ a little under the weather. Probably caught somethin’.”

He didn’t expect Gabriel to step forward into his space, and certainly didn’t anticipate his hand coming up and brushing his sweat-dampened bangs from his brow. Jesse quietly gasped at the contact, overheated skin relishing in the cool, sweeping caress of the former Detective’s fingertips. His gaze, his scent, his very presence almost immediately eased the incessant ache away better than any amount of peppermint tea ever could.

“You’re burning up,” Gabriel’s frown deepened. “You really should be in bed.”

“I needed my tea.” Jesse explained.

“You don’t have tea at home?”

Jesse didn’t even have a home to speak of. “Fresh out.”

Gabriel sighed and drew his hand away, eliciting a slight whimper from Jesse when the contact was broken. 

“Sombra and I are headed back to my place to catch the end of the game,” Gabriel smirked. “Afterwards, though, would you like me to pop by? I can bring you some soup.”

Jesse almost choked on his tea. God, he didn’t want to think about Gabriel’s reaction if he discovered that Jesse was currently staying in a hotel. And a cheap one at that. How could he possibly explain it? He was homeless, jobless, with every possession he owned barely filling a duffel bag. Gabriel probably imagined him in a warm little apartment of his very own, with a bed and an espresso machine and whatever the hell else humans kept in their homes. Jesse had nothing. Jesse was nothing. How would Gabriel look at him if he found out?

“That’s mighty kind of you, sugar,” Jesse said softly. “But I don’t want’cha catchin’ whatever I got.”

“I really don’t mind,” Gabriel smiled. “I can bring you some chicken noodle, maybe a Clint Eastwood western flick if you’re up for it. You seem like you’d be into that.”

“You and your stereotypes.”

“Am I wrong?”

Jesse’s closed-mouth smile was so wide his cheeks ached. “Hell no, I love Eastwood.”

“Is that a yes?” Gabriel tilted his head, gaze hopeful. 

What Jesse would have given to agree, to allow himself to be taken care of by the first person who genuinely gave a damn about him since his mother. 

Jesse gave a damn, too, which is why he couldn’t allow it. 

“Much as I’d love to snuggle up and watch Pale Rider with you, darlin’, the last thing I need is to risk lettin’ you feel as awful as I do.” He said softly, fingers reaching for the pull-strings dangling from Gabriel’s hoodie. He stopped himself partway there, retracting his hand and forcing himself to take another sip of tea. He was aware that Sombra had returned and was currently watching them both while sipping at a disgustingly sweet-looking concoction.

Though disappointment sat clear on his features, Gabriel didn’t argue. “Do you at least have a cell?”

Just an embarrassingly dated burner phone with a flip screen that he’d purchased on a whim before arriving to California. It wasn’t as though he had anyone to call. 

“Not with me,” Jesse lied, acutely aware of the weight of it in his jacket pocket. 

Gabriel then snatched up a pen that had been sitting on the front counter and took Jesse’s hand into his own. He watched, breath caught, as the former Detective scribbled ten little numbers across the skin of his palm. 

“This is mine,” Gabriel whispered, standing so close that Jesse felt the hot caress of his breath against his face as he spoke. “If you change your mind, or if you need anything at all, just give me a call, alright? Night or day. I’ll answer.”

Jesse could only nod, words lost to him. 

Gabriel gave the brim of his hat a playful tug before leaving with Sombra. “Feel better, cowboy.”

After watching them disappear down the busy LA sidewalk, Jesse sunk down at a table in the shadowed corner of the café. He stared silently at his palm, at the ten little numbers scribbled in Gabriel’s messy handwriting. The blue ink was smudged from the sweat of his fevered skin, yet he could still read them, searing each digit into the forefront of his mind before they became illegible. Though it had been mere minutes since Gabriel’s departure, the ache returned in a howling rush, and Jesse swallowed down gulp after gulp of peppermint tea to silence it. It wasn’t enough.

And he suddenly, clearly, knew exactly what he needed to do.

* * *

“This… this has to be a mistake.”

As Hanzo regarded the sight of Dr. Angela Ziegler seated at the desk across from him, he felt little surprise at the breathless astonishment in her voice. Indeed, she was taken back by what he’d placed on the polished wood before her, reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as though they would somehow make sense of what she was seeing. 

“There is no error, Doctor,” he assured her as he switched his sleek, carved cane from one hand to the other.

While he stood in her quiet, pale yellow office amidst her medical tomes and an arrangement of framed diplomas, the muscles of his legs grew tense beneath him, the phantom pain he had grown far too used to skittering like spiders legs up his thighs. His expression, however, revealed no trace of discomfort. He’d become talented at masking his agony, but felt no shame in carrying his cane while in Angela’s company. Neither his dignity nor his pride took wounds as they would while in the presence of others. After all, it was she who had gifted it to him many years ago.

Her wide, dazzlingly blue eyes lifted to his. “Hanzo, this is a check for eight million dollars.”

“I am aware. I did write it.”

Slowly, Angela removed her glasses and set them aside. “Why would you give me such a thing?”

“Consider it a donation to the Clinic for what you did for me last year,” Hanzo said. “So that you may afford whatever resources you require to assist you in saving more lives in the future.”

“I was not the only person to save him that day,” she pointed out with a soft smile. “Had it not been for that human, I would not have arrived at the scene to a living patient.”

A great weight settled within Hanzo’s chest at the mere memory of that morning, when the sidewalk outside The Dragon’s doors had run red with his brother’s blood. There had been so much, too much, the scent of it all sharp and cloying in the autumn air. When Hanzo had arrived in a panic, the sound of Genji’s heartbeat had been faint and stuttering as he lay nestled in the arms of former Detective Gabriel Reyes. The human’s jacket had been wrapped tightly around Genji’s mangled midsection in order to provide pressure to wounds too severe to heal themselves. It had been fool’s luck that Gabriel had found him when he did. Being so early in the morning, with the pale light of dawn barely enough to cut through the chill in the air, Genji would have otherwise died alone on an empty street. 

“I have already repaid the human thrice-over,” Hanzo assured her, though his brow furrowed. “Granted, I feel as though what he’s asked of me is not nearly enough to compensate for what he did.”

Angela nodded in understanding. “Does he know it was Deadlock?”

“No. He believes the assassination attempt was gang-related, which is not a stretch. We Shimadas have many enemies within this city.” Hanzo dropped his eyes to the head of his cane, which had been specially carved to resemble an ancient dragon head, the symbol of his family. His thumb caressed the intricate spikes and grooves in the polished wood. “He has no knowledge of what we are.”

With the soft scraping of chair legs against slate tiles, Angela rose from her seat and rounded the simple wooden desk to stand before him. In her black heels, she appeared to match his height, and the oils she often dabbed upon her throat scented of warm honey. She held the check he’d written in those talented, miraculous hands.

“Hanzo, I cannot accept this.”

“Please,” he reached out and placed one hand upon the curve of her slim shoulder. “Genji and I already discussed it over the phone. It would honor us both if you would take this gift and use it to further your work.”

When she dropped her eyes and smiled, Hanzo knew he had won the argument. 

“How is he?” She murmured.

“Restless, but recovered.” Hanzo nodded. “He is currently residing at our estate in New York.”

Her brows lifted. “So far from here?”

“It’s what’s best for his safety. That mansion is a fortress in and of itself. Heavily secured, hidden within the densely-forested Catskill Mountains. Impossible to find unless you already know it’s there.”

“And yet you’re not there with him,” Angela pointed out, though not accusingly. Rather, there was a sadness in her tone. “Should you not be safe as well, given what you endured all those years ago?”

“You make the same argument he does,” Hanzo rolled his palm over the head of his cane, expression darkening briefly as he grew all-too aware of the ache in his legs. “I’ll join him in due time. There are still matters to be tended to here.”

“Ever the businessman,” Angela set the check upon the desktop. As though sensing his discomfort, she pressed her lips into a worried line and gestured toward him. “How do they feel?”

“As well as multimillion-dollar prosthetics should, I suppose.”

“I meant your legs.”

“What remains of them? Painful, as always.” Hanzo sighed, rubbing a hand against the side of his thigh over the pin-stripped suit he wore. Though the attack upon him had only occurred within the last decade—a mere blink of time in the five hundred-years he’d been alive—he could no longer recall the days where he did not suffer this agony at every waking moment. 

“But nothing I cannot handle,” he added reassuringly. 

Hanzo left not long afterward, eager to return to his Penthouse apartment to unwind. He had no need to be at The Dragon tonight, and trusted that the bouncers and staff could handle the events of the evening without him. Upon exiting the Clinic through the hidden doorway, he all but collided chest-first with another being who’d been keying in the passcode just outside. Catching himself on the weight of his cane through his stumble, his senses caught hold of the familiar whiff of cloves and rosewater, and he knew exactly who he’d just run into before he’d even looked up.

“ _Monsieur_ Shimada,” came a disdainful, accented voice.

Hanzo raised his gaze to look upon the woman that had accompanied Gabriel Reyes to his meeting the other night. Her strange, luminous amber eyes were narrowed into a haughty glare, but within them sparked a cunning intelligence that fascinated him. Her raven hair was left loose this night, parted in a widows peak and left to tumble down the length of her tall, sinewy form. The ends, which ghosted along the backs of her strong thighs, lifted with the breeze that carried through the crumbling remains of the fire hall around them. Hanzo imagined that any man could get lost in that hair, and a small part of him wondered if it was as soft as it appeared. She was overwhelming in her beauty, impossibly so. 

The woman regarded him with the same coldness as their initial encounter, and he took note of the brief flicker of confusion that crossed her face when at last she noticed the cane in his grip. 

Damn it.

He straightened his stance so as not to put so much weight upon it, shifting its position so that it was mostly hidden behind his leg. “If it isn’t the mere observer.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What are you doing here?”

“The same as anyone else who visits Doctor Ziegler, I suppose.”

She paused for a moment, jaw cocking curiously as she regarded his cane once more. “Are you hurt?”

“Would it worry you if I was?” He asked with an arched brow.

The woman scoffed and looked away with a roll of her eyes.

“I am fine, if you are so desperate to know,” he informed her with a smirk. “You may breathe easier, now.”

“You are unspeakably arrogant.” 

“And you are in my way,” Hanzo leaned forward slightly. “May I pass, or do you take joy in keeping a man who requires a cane on his feet?”

With a sharp click of her tongue, the woman sidestepped from the doorway she’d been blocking, heels scuffing against the crumbled concrete stairway beneath them. As Hanzo walked forward, he suppressed the limp in his step until it was practically unnoticeable, jaw clenching through the pain while his shoulder brushed against her own. He would not allow her to notice such an undignified moment. It was enough that she already knew about his cane. Before he made the agonizing ascent up the hidden stairway, though, Hanzo paused and glanced sidelong at her.

“I still don’t know your name,” he murmured.

She seemed surprised at his words, and for the first time, a brief smile appeared upon her lips. Her jaw jutted out in defiance, and Hanzo then realized he’d never been more attracted to anyone.

“And you never will.”

She disappeared into the Clinic immediately after, leaving Hanzo to chuckle softly into the surrounding darkness before beginning the slow journey up to where he’d parked his Bentley. His Penthouse was located only a few blocks east, and was arguably the most desired place to reside in downtown Los Angeles, if one could easily afford the five-figure monthly rent. Rising up at over twenty floors high, the twin condo buildings known as The Ivory Commodore overlooked the sparkling cityscape and were cut up into massive block apartments embellished with state-of-the-art kitchens and bathrooms. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows meant the views in all four directions were as much part of the lavish décor as anything the owners placed into the spaces, and Hanzo made his home on the very top floor of the north building, right below the helicopter pad on the rooftop. 

As Hanzo pulled into the underground parking garage shared between the two buildings, he frowned at the sight of a large shadowed figure looming next to his reserved space. With an eerie sense of calm, he reached down, fingers seeking out the cool press of the loaded glock he kept stored beneath his seat. He slowly turned into his parking space, allowing his headlights to sweep over the figure as they passed, and Hanzo felt a heavy breath of relief escape him at what he beheld. Not a threat at all, but a familiar face hidden beneath the shadow of a ridiculous cowboy hat. An acquaintance of Genji’s, if Hanzo recalled correctly. He often found them drinking together at The Dragon. A good man; troubled, but good.

Hanzo released his hold on the glock and eased his Bentley into the narrow parking space before stepping out. The underground garage was sharply cool, with the scent of motor oil and exhaust heavy in the stagnant air. Cane in hand, he approached the other vampire and could immediately sense his quiet unease like an choking aura. 

“Awful sorry for bargin’ in on you like this, Mr. Shimada,” the cowboy said as he swept off his hat.

Hanzo paused and folded both hands over the carved head of his cane. “I must say, this is the last place I expected to find you… Jason, was it?”

“Jesse.”

“Right.”

Jesse jabbed one thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the door leading out of the parking garage. “Genji mentioned where he lived the last time we spoke. I tried buzzin’ the apartment but there wasn’t an answer.”

Hanzo nodded. “Indeed, he isn’t home.”

“Do you know when he’d be back? I just need to talk to him real quick.”

“I am afraid my brother no longer resides in Los Angeles.”

Jesse’s expression slowly crumbled into one of hopeless disappointment, shoulders slumping forward, broad hand scrubbing at the short hair on the back of his neck. His hat returned to his head. “Oh.”

Hanzo was immediately alarmed. “Is something troubling you?”

“You’re… old, right?”

Hanzo blinked rapidly, puzzled at the question. He suppressed a hiss as pain skittered up through the flesh of his thighs when he shifted the weight in his stance. “I have a few centuries on you, but I’d hardly call myself ancient just yet.”

Jesse wrung his hands together, and paused as though struggling to bring his thoughts to light. “In all that time, have you ever gotten… attached to someone?”

“I’ve had many friends and lovers, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, I mean… like have you ever encountered someone and felt as though you couldn’t understand how you survived your entire life before meetin’ them? You only just met, and you suddenly feel as though somethin’ within you has known them forever. Has wanted them forever. And it hurts, it aches to be away from ‘em for too long, like an itch under the skin. A spike in anxiety, a restlessness that isn’t sated until you’re with them again.”

Hanzo regarded the other vampire for a long while in utter silence. Above, the gaudy fluorescent strips of light buzzed and flickered their glow, while a car alarm blared in the far distance. 

“Jesse…” he whispered at last. “…have you Bonded with someone?”

As though relieved to hear his internal fears at last spoken aloud by another, Jesse exhaled a massive breath. “I don’t know. I think…” He gestured vaguely into the air with a sweep of his hand. “I only knew him for an hour and it just happened out of nowhere.”

“Bonding isn’t something a vampire can control.” Hanzo explained. “It’s like a hormone, it’s embedded into the fabric of our being, and there’s no predicting when it will flare up and for whom. In all ways, Jesse, you’ve encountered your soulmate.”

“How do I stop it?”

That question in and of itself was the biggest surprise of the conversation thus far, and Hanzo straightened, bewildered. Jesse’s expression was that of complete misery, and he made sure to measure his next words carefully.

“You can’t, Jesse. Male vampires Bond only once in their lifetime, and to a single person. Females may Bond more than once, though it is a rarity. For us, though, it’s a permanent part of our existence.” Hanzo could only shrug. “This person your body has chosen is yours eternally. You will want no one else, and you will feed from no one else, until the day you die. I would have thought your father would be the one to explain this to you in your youth.”

“My pa was human,” Jesse said quietly. 

“You mother?”

“Dead before I came of age for the big talk, I suppose. That’s why I sought out Genji. Thought maybe a friend could answer my questions.” Jesse began pacing, then, and Hanzo could sense his restlessness. He looked gaunt, weak, totally malnourished. Strong enough gust of wind, and that vampire would keel over on the spot. “God fuckin’ damn it.”

“I don’t understand your distress.” Hanzo said with a frown, chest thrumming with an ache he was too proud to admit was laced with envy. He tried to mask the bitterness in his tone. “Bonding is a sacred experience. You should be thrilled to know you’ve found your mate so early in your life.”

Jesse paused his stride and buried his face into his hands. “I can’t… I can’t be with him.”

“Why not? Is he with another?”

“No. He’s human.”

“As challenging as that could be, most of our kind Bond with humans.” Hanzo tilted his head. “I suspect he has no knowledge of what you are, yet?”

Jesse scoffed. “No. And he ain’t ever gonna know.”

“Then how exactly will you feed?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not gonna be from him.” Jesse stated firmly with a shake of his head. 

Hanzo sighed heavily, more bewildered by the moment by all of this. “Do you simply not care for this human?”

Jesse turned to look at him, and the agony in those dark eyes was shattering. “That’s the problem… I do. I really…” He swallowed hard. “We connect. I love bein’ around him. He’s strong, and intelligent, and so goddamn heartbreakingly beautiful that it all but kills me. All I want is to keep him safe.”

“I’m afraid I still don’t see the issue at hand.”

“The only way to keep him safe… is to keep him away from me.” Jesse stated with the kind of grim finality that sent a shiver trembling down Hanzo’s spine. “I’m bein’ hunted, Mr. Shimada. Since I was a damn kid, Deadlock has been after my head. They killed my momma in front of my eyes, left me alone to fend for myself. They’re ruthless. I haven’t been able to settle in a single place for too long without one of them gettin’ wise to me. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

Hanzo dropped his eyes, and focused momentarily on the sensation of the prosthetics hidden beneath the pantlegs of his suit. The steel was cool as it cradled what remained of his scarred, mangled legs. “I’m afraid I do.”

“And what do you think they’ll do to a human found with me?” Jesse resumed his pacing, the jangle of his spurs echoing off the concrete walls in the vast underground space. “I can’t let them hurt him. The very thought makes me wanna tear my damn skin off.” He slowed his stride, voice dropping to a mere whisper. “I can’t… I can’t ever see him again. It’s the only way.”

Truly, it bothered Hanzo to see another vampire in such distress after what is normally considered a sacred moment for their species. To Bond was to connect in ways beyond explanation. Hanzo had never experienced it himself, but he knew from the way he’d witnessed his parents together how special it could be. His father, Sojiro, had praised the ground their beloved mother walked upon. He’d killed for her, and given the word he would have fallen upon his own sword if it meant to keep her protected. Their love could have rendered the very mountains to ash. Hanzo had never known such devotion, such a fierce connection. Perhaps someday he would, or perhaps never. Regardless, to see the cruelty of life keep a Bonded male from his mate was heartbreaking. 

He reached into the front pocket of his suit jacket and removed his leather wallet and a single ballpoint pen. From within his wallet he withdrew a white business card, and began to scribble information onto its blank backside. 

“There is a Clinic devoted to our species which you will find at this address.” He explained while Jesse looked on. “There is a hidden door, and I have provided you with the current passcode to enter it. There, our kind is able to access human blood without the intimate act of striking the vein. You’ll be able to gather what you need to survive without your mate, and Dr. Ziegler will also provide you with the locations of other Clinics scattered throughout the country, so you can evade Deadlock and remain fed.” He held the card out and grimly added, “you will live, but it will be a long and torturous life.”

“I’ll endure anythin’ if it means he’ll be okay.”

Hanzo chuckled softly. “Spoken like a true Bonded male.”

Jesse took the offered card, gathering it to his chest as though it were precious to him. “Thank you… Thank you, Mr. Shimada.” 

“Hanzo. Please. No need for such formalities.” 

“Right,” Jesse nodded and slipped the card into the back pocket of his jeans. “If I may ask, are you Bonded?”

Hanzo felt his jaw clench. “No.”

“Even after all this time?”

“Like I explained, we have no control over when it happens.” Hanzo shrugged, and at last came forward to clasp his hand on Jesse’s strong shoulder. “I must say I am almost glad for it. You look positively miserable.”

When he bid Jesse goodnight and made for the elevator that would lead him to his empty Penthouse above, Hanzo’s final thoughts were of that nameless woman. 

For the life of him, he didn’t know why.

* * *

Jesse emerged from the underground parking garage, devastated by the certainty of the decision he was about to make. Outside, the air was brisk, and his eyes latched onto what little he could see of the stars through the glare of city lights. They were nothing like they’d been back home, where he’d spent nights laying across his sun-warmed rooftop with his father as they named each twinkling cluster above the quiet canyons. Jesse had always found calm in the stars, in the impossible endlessness of the sky. Right now, he longed for their comfort as he drew out his phone and sent a simple text to the number scribbled across the palm of his hand, stomach churning with more than just the need for blood.

Bonded…

Fuck. He was Bonded.

Not fifteen minutes later, as he stood leaning against the cool press of his motorcycle, Jesse found himself in the harsh beam of Escalade headlights. He rounded the parked vehicle and popped open the passenger’s side door, and was greeted with the enveloping scent of the human his very soul longed for. A scent that reminded him of stepping into the kitchen as his mother was preparing supper—warm and spiced and welcoming, like coming home at the end of the day. The former Detective sat quietly in the driver’s seat, a frown carved deeply into the soft features of his face, hardening them. Jesse wondered how Gabriel’s subordinates at the precinct must have felt when met with such a worrisome expression. It wasn’t enough that Gabriel was practically built like a linebacker. He had to have a face that was both heartbreaking in its beauty and terrifying in its harshness. He imagined Gabriel had been the picture of intimidation back then, but as Jesse slipped into the passenger’s seat, he watched that harshness fall away into genuine concern.

Christ, how was he going to do this?

“Thanks for meetin’ me,” he murmured over the purr of the Escalade’s engine. He slipped off his hat and settled it into his lap, where he wound his fingers anxiously. 

Gabriel was leaning against the leather steering wheel. “Is everything alright?”

Jesse made a sound not unlike bitter laughter. “Not really.”

“Talk to me.”

Jesse took a long and steady breath while he raked both hands up through his tousled hair. The strands hung heavy and damp with sweat. “I need to be honest with you about somethin’. I originally wanted to just tell you over text, but I ain’t much of a writer. Dunno if I’d be able to explain myself—”

He was cut off by the press of Gabriel’s hand against his brow. “Christ, you’re still burning up.” The former Detective frowned. “You need to be home in bed, Jesse. Whatever you need to say can wait until you’re better.”

Jesse instantly snatched up Gabriel’s thick wrist in his hand and held tight. “Please, I need to get this out now before I leave.”

Gabriel fixed him with a confused look. “Leave?”

“I ain’t from here, sugar,” he explained softly, eyes pleading. “I don’t actually live in LA. Hell, I don’t even live in California. I was just passin’ through, and I didn’t expect to be here long enough to meet someone who makes me second guess leavin’. But I gotta. Soon as I get out of this car, I’ll be hittin’ the road. And I had to put an end to this…” he gestured between them with his free hand, and only then realized he was still holding onto Gabriel for dear life. He could feel the former Detective’s pulse quickening beneath his fingers, could feel the rapid rush of his searing blood. Jesse’s hunger flared hotly, gums aching around his extended fangs. His thumb brushed tenderly against Gabriel’s vein before releasing him. 

“I had to put an end to whatever this tension is buildin’ between us before it had a chance to get too far.” He continued. “After tonight, I reckon we’ll probably never see each other again, but I just couldn’t bear not seein’ your face one last time before I said goodbye.”

Gabriel was quiet for a long while, leather seating creaking as he slumped his broad body back against it. Jesse watched as he shucked off his knitted beanie to run a hand over his buzzed hair, and he granted himself a brief moment to wonder what it would look like fully grown out. He imagined dark, lustrous curls. The kind he’d spend hours running his fingers through.

“So…” Gabriel began quietly, like he was afraid that raising his voice would only make Jesse leave quicker. “You won’t ever visit?”

“For both our sakes, it’s best I don’t.”

There was that hardened look, again. Gabriel’s brows knitted together above his dark eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I ain’t good enough for you, sugar.” Jesse admitted, and the words stung hard the moment they were spoken aloud. “Trust me, you don’t want to get involved with me.”

“Please don’t pull that ‘not good enough for me’ bullshit on me, Jesse. I’m a grown fucking man, and I think I know what I deserve.” Gabriel replied with such sharpness that it caused Jesse’s gaze to snap around toward him. “If you don’t like me, just say it and spare me these teenage excuses. I can handle rejection.”

Jesse frowned. “The problem is that I do like you, Gabe. I really fuckin’ do, and I shouldn’t. I wish I could tell you everythin’ about me. I wish more than anythin’ for you to get to know the real me, inside and out.”

“Then tell me,” Gabriel’s tone softened, and suddenly the former Detective was extending a hand to brush the backs of his fingers along Jesse’s bearded jaw. “You don’t have to hide.”

Jesse shuddered and closed his eyes at the contact, the ache flaring within him. Turning his head, he nosed at Gabriel’s palm with a sigh. “I can’t put you at risk, sugar.”

The hand against the side of his face went still. “What risk would there be?”

Shit. He’d revealed too much.

Drawing back quickly as though he’d been burned, Jesse reached over, fingers fumbling for the latch that would pop open the passenger’s side door. His heart thundered, and his throat grew tight. “I… I gotta go.”

“Jesse, wait.” 

“Goodbye, Gabriel.”

“Jesse!” Gabriel called as Jesse swiftly slid out of the Escalade. “Damn it.”

He quickly made for his parked motorcycle, ignoring the sounds of the driver’s side door opening before the scuffle of Gabriel’s boots drew closer. Just as he mounted his bike and ignited the snarling engine, a pair of hands latched onto the handlebars. Gabriel was standing in front of him, now, broad body blocking any chance of an escape, dark eyes blazing. Behind him, the street lamp cast a halo of light around his frame and cloaked his face in shadow. He looked both divine and damned at once. 

“Jesse…” Gabriel said evenly. “What the hell is going on?”

“It ain’t your business, now let me go.”

The stubborn human wasn’t having it, and Jesse had a feeling he was currently speaking to Detective Reyes instead of Gabriel. His tone was strong, his words carefully measured as though he was sitting on the opposite end of an interrogation table. “Jesse, are you in some kind of trouble?”

Jesse revved the engine loudly, feeling the prickle of tears behind his eyes. He ground his jaw through the emotion. “Just leave me. Please. You ain’t gotta be involved.”

“I was involved the moment you first smiled at me,” Gabriel breathed. 

Jesse wanted to sob. He truly did. “Gabe…”

The shrill wail of tires braking roughly against the asphalt caught them both off guard, and Jesse jumped clear out of his skin as an unassuming black Sedan screeched to a rough halt right next to them. Gabriel leapt back from the handlebars with a vibrant curse, watching as each car door was thrown open and four figures stepped out into the flickering lamplight. At the sight of them, Jesse physically felt any warmth immediately leave his body.

Funny how even in the centuries since their first encounter, Jesse still felt chilled to the bone at the very sight of those skull-painted black bandanas.

They’d found him.

“What the fuck…” Gabriel murmured.

“Gabe, you need to run.” Jesse blurted as the Deadlock members surrounded them in a sweep, like ravens circling a corpse. He was suddenly reminded of his mother’s last word as he repeated it to the human he longed to protect. “Run!” 

The blow came fast and without warning; a Deadlock member stepping in behind Gabriel and slamming the butt-end of a gun against the back of his skull. Jesse shouted, watching as the former Detective collapsed to the pavement in an unconscious heap. He caught the scent of fresh blood sharply in the air. It was in that moment that he felt the aggressive surge of his Bond, like every cell in his body had been suddenly hardwired to protect. It was a maddening rush. Tearing off his motorcycle, Jesse threw himself between Gabriel and the circling Deadlock members. He peeled his lips back, fangs elongating with a wild hiss, body shielding the vulnerable human from whatever they planned to inflict. He’d never felt so infuriated, so starved to kill. Ever since placing a bullet into the eye of the Deadlock member in his kitchen, Jesse had never once brought harm to another human. Now, however, he could feel every fibre of his being hunger for blood. He wanted to shred through their throats, he wanted to swallow them down, he wanted to watch them drain away slowly at his feet. 

And he would have died right here at the very end of it all, if it meant keeping Gabriel Reyes from harm.

Yeah. Bonded, indeed. 

“Look at what we’ve got here,” one of the Deadlock members spoke. He was young, blonde, and the eyes that stared out from above his bandana were as cold and black as the bottom of an empty well. “Our McCree went and got himself Bonded, boys.”

Jesse snarled through their muffled chuckles. Below, he could hear Gabriel making soft sounds as he struggled to regain consciousness through the pain. His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed darkly. Locked above Gabriel’s body, Jesse kept turning his head to ensure every Deadlock bastard remained within his line of sight. 

“And here I thought you were the last vamp to go and make this easy for us,” the blonde clicked his tongue with all the disappointment of a schoolteacher. “McCree, McCree, McCree. Don’t you know a Bonded male is a weak male?”

“You let him go,” Jesse bit out, tongue gliding over one fang. “You let him go and you can have me.”

“You’d stroll willingly into death after years of evading us?”

There wasn’t even a breath of hesitation, and it shocked him. “Yes.”

“See? Weakness.” The blonde—whom he now assumed was the leader—shook his head. Jesse could tell by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that the smug fucker was smirking beneath his bandana. He could hear it dancing along the edges of his words. “And what better weapon to use against you than the human you’d die for.”

It was then that he felt two strong hands seize him by each wrist. Jesse growled, fangs slashing at the air in a weakened attempt to bite and tear at the men that had come close enough to grab him, but his blood starved body proved clumsy. His arms were then bent hard against his back, and he hissed sharply, tears of pain and fury dancing in his eyes when the Deadlock leader seized his bearded jaw in an iron grip. His knees quivered, his spine protested with the strain of his position.

“He doesn’t know,” Jesse grunted desperately through clenched teeth. “He doesn’t know what I am.”

“Well that’s going to change very soon.” The blonde replied, grip tightening until Jesse’s skull sung with pain.

He didn’t have time to react before something solid and heavy met the back of his head in a dizzying blow, and the world teetered drunkenly around him before finally falling to blackness.

* * *

Amelie loathed being kept in the dark, and once she’d left the Clinic after what she considered to be a fruitless attempt at a conversation with Angela, the good doctor’s avoidance of the subject of Hanzo Shimada’s generous donation made Amelie feel utterly encased in shadow. No man, regardless of his wealth, simply handed out millions of his filthy crime money without some underlining reason, but Angela would not delve further into the details no matter how relentlessly Amelie pried. She left soon after, seething with further distrust for the man. 

And what was with that cane? Amelie hadn’t seen it during their first encounter at The Dragon, and he most certainly moved about his office with little indication that he even needed it. Perhaps he had been recently injured. Perhaps he was quietly suffering beneath that unspeakable arrogance. 

Why did it even matter to her?

It shouldn’t.

It didn’t.

She found solace in a vanilla latte from a nearby café, and decided that a small detour from her usual route to her apartment would be necessary to ease her uncertainty. Anyone with a mind in Los Angeles was aware that the city’s wealthiest members resided in the towering twin condominiums known as The Ivory Commodore, and Amelie soon found herself glaring up at the soaring glass structure from the bustling sidewalk below. Hanzo Shimada resided at the top floor, if speculations were correct. She felt no surprise that he’d take pride in glowering down at the city from his untouchable perch. Golden light from twinkling crystal chandeliers in the building’s main lobby spilled out onto the street, while men in dark velvet stood stationed against the marble columns on either side of the stained-glass entryway. She had known this level of luxury but once in her lifetime during those brief and fleeting years with Gerard. He had been unspeakably wealthy, and drowned her in fine gowns and furs and sweet French oils for her skin. She’d never asked for any of it, yet he gave anyways, desiring nothing in return but her unyielding devotion. They’d Bonded so fiercely to each other mere hours after their first meeting, and the taste of his blood had soaked her tongue and nourished her body every day afterward until Talon had taken him from her. 

The sight of such unnecessary wealth now turned her stomach. She would have given up every jewel, every thread of silk, every fleck of gold, if it had meant her Gerard would have survived. 

Amelie took a steady sip from her coffee as she rounded the building to come upon the steep dip of pavement that led down to the underground parking garage, and felt her body go utterly still. A chill of unease skittered down the curve of her spine. Slowly, she lifted her head and shut her eyes, nose turning to the breeze. As she inhaled, there was no mistaking it; the sharp tang of human blood in the air. Barely fresh. Amelie marched further forward, heels clicking against the asphalt, following the scent until she came upon the sudden and blinding glare of headlights from a parked vehicle. 

An Escalade. A sleek black Escalade with both front doors left wide open and the driver nowhere in sight.

Amelie felt her stomach fall, and prayed that she would not recognize the license plate.

She did.

Bounding forward, Amelie thoroughly tore through the vehicle, but there was no sign of her dearest human companion. The scent of blood was nearby, however, and when she found herself on the passenger’s side, she came upon a dusty old cowboy hat on the ground next to an overturned motorcycle. A small spattering of dried blood—no more than a few drops—glistened on the pale pavement. Nearby, two curves of blackened tire marks were seared onto the concrete.

Something terrible had happened here, and Gabriel had been caught in the crossfire. As Amelie covered her mouth with a trembling hand, her eyes lifted accusingly to the top floor of the building. 

And her rage ignited.

Once the Escalade was locked and the keys tucked safely into her pocket, entering The Ivory Commodore didn’t take much effort. A soft flutter of her lashes and a smile toward the doormen as she followed one of the residents inside was enough to allow her to slip through unbothered. Given her height and attire, she supposed she looked no different than the models that would come and go to the exclusive celebrity parties held within. Amelie crossed the grand marble lobby that was utterly decked out to resemble the art deco wave of the roaring twenties, and one of the three elevators parted their gaudy golden doors and allowed her to slip inside. Her body vibrated with a wild concoction of terror and fury to the point where she had to grip onto the mirrored walls to steady herself. Her long nails dug sharply into the palm of her hand until she was certain she had drawn blood.

Amelie was fully prepared to kill Hanzo Shimada tonight if he had anything to do with this.

She rode the elevator up to the top floor and turned left until she came upon what she believed to be the door to Hanzo’s apartment. With both hands balled into fists, Amelie raised one to slam against the solid mahogany, yet paused before her knuckles could connect with the surface. She could distinctly hear movement beyond the door—the faint shuffling of bodies—along with the low muffled voices of a male and a female. Flattening her hand upon the door, Amelie leaned in to listen, hoping to latch onto a word or a phrase that would link her to Gabriel’s disappearance. What she received, however, was a sudden keening cry of a woman orgasming. Amelie lurched back from the door with a gasp, heat blooming from the center of her stomach to radiate out into every long limb. 

It wasn’t difficult to imagine what was occurring beyond that door, and despite how much she tried not to think of it, Amelie’s mind delved deeply into the thought of Hanzo Shimada buried inside of another woman. She would be splayed out beneath him while his body surged into the cradle of her slender hips. His arms would be bowed out to support his heavy upper torso, face nestled in the neck of his lover, perhaps suckling from her vein as she clawed desperately at his jutted shoulder blades. Amelie’s eyes clenched shut and she cursed, scrubbing the vision from her mind’s eye, ignoring the piercing stab of irrational jealousy at the center of her chest. 

When she went to knock again, there came no hesitation. Her fists slammed hard against the polished wood, and she did not relent until a few moments passed and the door swung open before her. 

Hanzo appeared in a wash of soft apartment lighting, bare chest glistening with a fresh layer of sweat that still trickled in clear beads between the swell of his muscled pectorals. He was still donned in the pinstriped suit pants she had caught him in earlier, except as her eyes travelled downward, she took note of the dark trail of hair leading to the undone clasps. Funnily, she had never envisioned someone as pretentious as he to be so tattooed, but the entirety of his left arm and shoulder were heavily decorated in a swirling design of blues and golds that even covered part of his chest. A part of her desired a closer look, to run her nails along the coiling lines, following the patterns to see the image they created, but the sight of Hanzo’s bewildered expression reignited her fury until her vision went white.

Blinded by desperation, Amelie lunged forward, seizing the male vampire by his thick throat until he staggered backwards into his apartment.

“Where is he?” She snarled. “What did you do to him?”

Despite her respectable strength, she was unsurprised to feel him overpower her easily. Hanzo’s hands took hold of her dainty wrists and spun them both around until Amelie was caught between him and the cool press of his wall. He held her there firmly with his body.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He growled low, his face hovering so close to hers that she could feel the heat of his breath and scent the musk of his sweat. 

Amelie thrashed against his hold to no avail, and bared her fangs with a hiss. “Where is Gabriel?”

“I haven’t seen him since our last encounter in my office,” he replied with a frown. His inky black hair was down and falling over his eyes in silken tendrils. His neck was peppered in faint bite marks and love bruises. His chest was scratched. “If you’ve misplaced your human, that is no concern of mine.”

“Why is his car here?” She barked. “Why is it parked outside with the doors open and the engine still running and fresh blood spattered on the ground? What did you have your thugs do to him?!”

Hanzo leaned back with furrowed brow, though his grip upon her wrists remained strong. For a few moments, he searched her eyes in silence. “I assure you, I have not seen nor have I spoken to Gabriel Reyes since the night of our meeting.”

He spoke with such calm, such surety, that Amelie’s anger blossomed. “You’re a liar.”

“Give me a reason as to why I would ever put that human to harm.” Hanzo huffed.

“He’s detrimental to your business,” she explained with narrowed eyes. “You’re losing money and valued suppliers because you feel as though you owe him a debt.”

“I do.”

“Which is motive.”

Hanzo dropped his head with a hefty sigh. “You’re an infuriatingly distrustful woman.”

“And you’re a criminal,” she sneered in return.

“Mr. Shimada?”

The third voice in the room caused them both to snap their heads around, and Amelie felt her stomach knot up at the sight of a human woman lingering in one of the arched doorways. Tousled red hair, smeared lipstick, naked curves riddled with love bites and barely draped in nothing but a man’s dark dress shirt. Ah, yes. Right. His lover.

For a fleeting moment of bliss, she had almost forgotten.

It was then that Hanzo began to address the woman in a tongue she did not understand. Japanese, by the sounds of it, and Amelie listened silently to their exchange before the woman disappeared just long enough to dress into her own attire and leave the apartment without another word. 

Once alone, Hanzo met her eyes with a gaze so devastatingly soft that she wanted nothing more than to backhand him for it. 

“I’m going to let you go, now,” he spoke with a tone that mirrored his expression. “If you would please refrain from attempting to strangle me a second time, I would appreciate it.”

Slowly, the grip upon her wrists released, and Amelie lowered her arms just enough to wrap them around her middle. She remained pressed against the wall for her own sanity, however, watching warily as Hanzo stepped back further into his massive apartment. The dark polished floor was bare of rugs as he walked across it with the faintest trace of a limp, while elegant antique furniture filled the space with rustic warmth. A gas fireplace blazed against a wall of exposed stone that divided the living room from the gourmet kitchen, while floor to ceiling glass windows allowed a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The world sparkled just beyond, from a patchwork of lights from the surrounding skyscrapers to the strips of red taillights on the highway in the distance. Amelie would have relished in the sights, would have stepped out through the glass doors and onto the gardened terrace if she wasn’t currently suffocating under the weight of choking dread.

With every moment that ticked by, Gabriel’s chance of survival was dwindling. 

Assuming he wasn’t already…

“Was there anything at the scene that could have told you what happened?” Hanzo asked, and she was almost grateful that his voice had cut off that thought before it could be completed. “Any clues besides the empty car?”

“You speak as though you don’t already know.”

“Because I do not.” Hanzo growled from across the vast space, and in the soft lighting she caught the gleam of his fangs. “Spare me your distrust and answer the question. You are not the only person in this room worried about the well-being of that human.”

“You do not know him.” Amelie glared.

“I know enough to know that I do not want him hurt.” 

Amelie chewed on her inner cheek as she crossed both arms beneath the swell of her breasts. “There were fresh tire marks on the pavement. Whoever did this did it by surprise. There was also an overturned red motorcycle and a cowboy hat. Though I am unsure if they have anything to do with the—”

“Did you say cowboy hat?”

Amelie blinked as he cut her off, bewildered at his attention to that detail in particular. “I did.”

“Brown and old fashioned with a golden badge upon the ribbon?” Hanzo demanded.

“I didn’t care to look that closely, but I suppose?” Amelie’s expression scrunched. “What does that have to do with anything? Do you know who it belongs to?”

Hanzo nodded, hand scratching at the black beard upon his angular chin. “An acquaintance of mine. Also a vampire. I had just met with him an hour ago.”

“Dangerous?”

“He’s never presented himself as a threat, so I don’t see him being responsible for this if that is what you’re insinuating. If anything, it sounds as though he is just as much a victim in all of this as Gabriel.”

Amelie despised that word. Victim. It sounded as though it should be spoken over a decaying corpse. 

Hesitantly, she stepped away from the wall. The strike of her heels against the sleek hardwood echoed as she approached the pure-blooded male before her. “If you truly had nothing to do with this, _Monsieur_ Shimada—”

“I didn’t.”

Her tongue clicked as interrupted her yet again. “If you’re as innocent as you declare, then I am entrusting you to help me get to the bottom of this.”

Amelie was aware of the way his eyes glided up the long length of her form, and for the smallest moment she almost thought he looked ready to devour her. Turning, more so to hide the smirk threatening to appear, she plucked her cell phone from her pants and dialed.

“Amelie?” Sombra’s voice came through on the other line, and it was tight. “I was just about to call you.”

“Oh?”

“Have you seen or spoken to Gabriel in the last hour? He left in a rush just as the Lakers game was ending and hasn’t returned. _Cabrón_ isn’t answering my texts or picking up my calls. It’s not like him.”

Amelie felt as though she was going to be sick. “Meet me outside of The Ivory Commodore immediately. Bring your laptop and equipment.”

“…Did something happen?”

“Now.”

She hung up and turned to Hanzo, who she then noticed was watching her with the smallest hint of a smile she could have sworn would be considered endearing. “What?” 

His expression grew. “I still don’t know your name.”

As she left the apartment to await Sombra’s arrival, Amelie allowed herself to smile as well.

* * *

Oh, that new car smell. A combination of too-fresh carpeting, still-vicious hinge oil, and glue that was only surface dry. It had been a decent handful of years since Gabriel had last relished in the scent since he’d bought his beloved Escalade, but now he was getting forcefully reacquainted with it from the trunk of the goddamn Sedan he’d been shoved into. 

Not the way he’d planned his night to go.

Given his previous line of work in the LAPD, he’d been used to improvising in dangerous situations. He wouldn’t exactly call himself MacGuyver and build a nine-millimetre autoloader out of duct tape, a tube of toothpaste, twelve cents, and a Bic lighter, but he was certainly smart enough to feel around the cramped space, looking for a tire iron, a tool kit... hell, a fucking forgotten soda can. Anything he could use as a weapon. 

What he found, however, was the warm unconscious body of Jesse McCree stuffed right alongside him.

“Oh Jesus…” Gabriel breathed in the blackness, hands feeling up the cotton brush of the cowboy’s shirt until he could cradle that bearded jaw. “Jesse?”

There came no response besides a faint groan. Not that he was entirely shocked about that.

Where the hell were they being taken? Going by the purr of the undercarriage and the lack of potholes, Gabriel had to assume they were currently on the highway. For how long, he couldn’t tell. He’d been unconscious for some time. Delving into his memories, he plucked at the brief images of their captors—the all black attire, the skull-patterned bandanas concealing the lower halves of each wild-eyed face. A street gang, unquestionably, though one he had never encountered in the twenty years he’d served as a Detective. Perhaps a recently developed group?

Fuck, his head hurt. What they hell had they hit him with? A hammer?

Straining his spine upward, he patted under the small of his back, thinking he might be lying on the compartment that held the spare tire and tools. But as his fingers skittered about, he felt no seams in the carpeting. Gabriel resorted to reaching over his head to recheck the side walls, careful not to elbow Jesse as he did so. He felt the soft scratch of the carpeting and the undulation of the wheel wells, netting that might have held groceries in place, a folded sheet of paper that could have very well been a map, a scrunched-up receipt that crinkled loudly beneath his palm.

This was going nowhere. 

Huffing, Gabriel stilled where he lay to catch his bearings and his breath. Beside him, Jesse stirred but did not awaken, scrunched body turning away from Gabriel in the cramped compartment. Seizing the opportunity, Gabriel’s palm patted around the new space Jesse had made between them, and his fingertips dug into a sudden break in the carpeting. Breath catching, he followed the square cut-out until he came upon latches on either end. Disengaging a compartment cover, he popped a panel free and found…

Toolbox? First-aid?

Navigating by touch alone, trying to decipher the shape and feel of what was inside, Gabriel was reminded of how much he appreciated his vision. 

“Gotcha,” he hissed, digging his nails into the box and fighting with the hold to get the damn thing free. 

When at last he was able to yank the thing out, his fingers fumbled with the metal latch before he popped it open, adrenaline causing him to shake. The cylinder was about eight inches long and an inch and a half wide. On one end there was a cap with a rough patch on its top, and inside? Party time. This flare was their only shot.

Literally.

Closing his eyes—even though he couldn’t see a damn thing anyways—Gabriel clutched the flare to his chest like a lifeline. He listened to the rhythmic sound of Jesse’s breathing against the purr of the undercarriage, and felt his body roll as the car took a steady turn around a curve. He started to prepare himself—what angle he was going to take, how he was going to come at these bastards the moment the trunk popped open. Granted, that all meant little when show time rolled around. Everything was going to end up relying on a split-second decision that was ultimately unpredictable. 

Gabriel allowed his breathing to slow, his senses to sharpen. He was used to this. Too used to this. His entire goddamned career had been about rapid thinking in the face of catastrophic danger. He’d stared down the barrels of countless guns, had been slashed and stabbed at by silver blades, pocket knives, and even a fucking toothbrush carved into a shiv. His face was marred with scarred flesh, his chest and arms as well. The last thing these sons of bitches did was scare him.

Popping his lids open, Gabriel rolled his body over until he felt the warm press of Jesse against the length of his front. Tousled dark hair that scented of blood and stale sweat tickled at his cheek, and he slipped one arm around the cowboy’s middle, seeking his hand. As their fingers entwined, Gabriel exhaled and buried his forehead against the back of Jesse’s shoulder.

Jesse’s words from their conversation in the Escalade rang clear in his head: ‘I can’t put you at risk, sugar.’

It was now clear to Gabriel what the risk had been. Question was: how long had Jesse been a target for these assholes? And why? He hardly seemed like the type to get involved with the seedy underbelly of LA’s street crime. He was no criminal. Perhaps he’d pissed someone off, gotten his reckless ass tangled with the wrong crowd, did something he shouldn’t have done and was now paying the price. Gabriel could see that. He rode a fucking motorcycle without a helmet, for Christ sakes. 

Yeah. Reckless was an understatement. 

“Don’t worry,” Gabriel found himself murmuring against Jesse’s shoulder. It wasn’t as if he was expecting a response, but speaking his thoughts aloud gave him comfort. “I’m going to get us out of this.”

Not long after, Gabriel felt the Sedan ease to a gentle stop before the engine was cut to silence.

Show time.


End file.
